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Canadian  Inatituta  for  Hiatorical  Microraproductiont  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  historiquaa 


994 


TachniMl  and  BiMiograpliic  NoM  /  NotM  ttdini^yM  tl  biMMgri^iqyOT 


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Q 


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n 


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a 


n 


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empreinte. 

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dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
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illustrent  la  m*thode. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICIOCOrv  RESOIUTION  TiST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


A    APPLIED  irvHGE 


1653   East   Main   Street 

Rochester.  Neo  York        14609      US* 

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(716)   288  -  S989  -  Fox 


I 


IAN    OF    THE    ORCADES 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

^e  Crown  SvorHandsome  Cloth  Bmding. 
Price  6g.  net, 

T/te  Collected  Poems  of 
Wilfred  Campbell 

tive,  but  alwtC;  K!d  K   7^  «««  ^te 'and  iSk.. 
A.  delightful  i^  fom  „  it\'?±r.""^''  •'«?"'•  •  •  • 

Mr.  Cmpbell  is  too^Jwu  ni  .  r    '" '"Piration 

true  dtize^,  ,„d  some  of  hi,  na.nW '^  "*«  '°  »»«  « 

front  of  r^^i  ??;;  whVthJT  •  '^"«  «="-  •" 
running  dry  in  the  ol^Jum"  "^  ».'«•"  *"?»  '«  »* 
for  a  new  poetry  from  7h-^'       "'  *''  «"  »he  watch 
Campbell  co^To  us  wi  h' J  "'""?'"".   "d   Mr 
ance/'^Afw/Ww/^.  LS  P~""**  *"<J  Perform! 

»u7!;ySrint^Sr^^J3rous^  characterised  by 
elemenul  moods  she  rcmlTb  ^LS'T '"  ""^  8«« 

2.ti.rrhS;.-u'^^^^^^^^ 

Jn  tte-  ^"  ^-^>-V&KSS 
"  I    wish    to   <<«ii    n^  .^  J     . 

Collected  Poems  of  WiXlT^'"Lf,".'"''*»»  ^  "The 
poet  has  sung  the  uS«  wn^/^-l-  .  ThisCanadilJ 
v,b„te  oveTfhe  wHe  »%!&?' •*''°n~''^ 

5?.  J"^*'P'"e'*tion  of  what  tL  tv,-!?  • "  ""  ^^  P«rity 
children.'^-T;  ^.'xT^T^  ''*  Domm,on  means  to  her 

hearing  in  EngS,d  f       E^r„^" '  "''J'  »*"'  *  gW 

hundred  of  Ih?  volume  emSoK'  "V****  ""^  ^ 
•  .  .This  volume  of  ColTect^  p  "'''"?'>"°  1"otation. 

should  become  as  well  "S  Tn  p'n  f  *7°"'  ^^^h 
the  Atlantic.  Encland  dho„w  L  .^"g'^nd  a  across 
Empire.  "-^/a^^i^S;^  '^''ensh  so  true  p^^t  o^ 


I 


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.Vn  /<J|f,  47. 


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IAN 
OF  THE  ORCADES 


OR 


THE  ARMOURER   OF  GIRNIGOE 


By 


WILFRED   CAMPBELL 


AUTHOR  OF 
"THH  SAGAS  OP  VASTER   BRITAIN"  AND 


OTHER   POEMS 


H^tt/i  Illustrations  l-y 
ROBERT  B.  M.  PAXTON 


New  York  Chicago  Toronto 

Fleming    H.    Revell    Company 

London     and     Edinburgh 


146696 


TO 

HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  ARGYLL 

"IAN  OF  THE  isles" 

MY  CHIBF,    KINSMAN,  AND  FRIEND 

THIS  VOLUME  IS 

AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


Dalchenna,  Inveraray 
i9/>i  August  1906 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


THX  MAN  WHO  HELD  THAT   LITTLE  COMMUKITT  OF  BOULB 

IN  THE  ORIF  OF  BIS  STEEL  QLOVK     .  .      Frontispiece 


THERE  BETWIXT  US  STOOD  THE  PRIEST       . 

THEN  SHE  WENT  FORWARD  ...  TO  RECEIVE  HIS  PARTINO 
SALUTATION        ...... 


3« 


216 


CRTINO,   "TAKE   THAT,  THOU   DOG   OF    AN    EARL,"   FLUNG 

THE  CONTENTS  OF  HIS  FLAGON  IN  HT  FACE  .  .        304 


IAN    OF    THE    ORCADES 


CHAPTER  I 

"  A  noble  house  of  noble  age, 
Of  high  and  mighty  line."— Anoh. 

TIULL  fifty  years  have  come  and  gone  with  their 
-'-  mirk  and  shine,  their  seed-time  and  harvest, 
since  the  first  of  the  matters  indited  in  these  writings 
came  into  my  life.  Yet  it  seemeth  but  yesterday  that 
I  was  a  boy,  with  the  wind  of  the  sea  and  moor  in  my 
face,  and  the  dim,  imformed  hopes  of  youth  in  my  heart 
and  mind. 

That  mine  is  a  sad  tale  is  not  of  mine  own  making, 
but  is  even  the  work  of  a  greater  One  who  showeth  His 
might  in  the  vast  seas  and  the  hushed  tempest ;  and  if 
there  be  anything  of  ill  on  my  part  in  the  events  and 
scenes  herein  described,  may  my  children  and  my 
children's  children  forgive,  as  Heaven  forgiveth,  the  one 
who  hath  stumbled  in  darkness  not  only  of  the  flesh, 
but  even  of  spirit  and  heart. 

Ours  is  a  great  house,  and  to  it  have  come  great 
storms,  yea  tempests,  that  have  shaken  and  swept  as 


SP 


SKgf^^ 


xo 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


God  .weeps  the  hills  that  tower,  while  the  glen,  and 
strath,  are  protected  in  shelter.  Thi.  hath  ever  been 
the  hirtory  of  our  whole  land  of  Scotland,  from  the  day. 
of  my  great  ancestor  the  Bruce,  and  long  before,  wherein 
the  mighty  have  fallen  or  have  seen  much  Ul,  while  the 
poor  and  humble  have  waxed  strong  in  condition  and 
spint. 

As  far  back  as  man  can  remember,  our  ancestors 
have  held  these  wide  possessions  of  mountain  and  moor- 
iand,  strath  and  bay.  and  wild  islands  of  the  Orcades  • 
and  ever  slowly  but  surely  one  by  one  have  they  dwindled 
from  Jongdom  to  principality.  principaUty  to  earldom, 
imtU  some  time,  not  in  my  day.  nor  perchance  my 
children  s  children's  day.  it  may  please  God  that  this 
ancient  stronghold.   Gimigoe  of  the  Cattynes,  stand 
waste  and  desolate,  and  the  sf  .nger  sit  in  the  place  of 
command,  while  the  heir  of  an  ancient  Hne  is  unknown 
forgotten,  and  in  a  far  country.    Such  doth  it  some  time 
seem  to  me  shall  come  to  pass,  that  is.  when  the  great 
sadness  cometh  over  me  of  darkness  and  dream  which 
some  call  the  cloak  of  second  sight,  a  gift  or  malady  of 
blood  mhentance  in  our  famUy.  but  which,  methinks 
oometh  rather  in  my  case  from  the  long  hours  of  lone' 
broodmgs  which  held  me  in  the  dark  days  of  my  blind- 
ness  before  once  again  I  began  to  see  dimly  the  face 
of  beloved  and  friend,  of  sky  and  great  water,  of 
mountain  and  sun. 

But  I  must  to  my  tale,  for  there  is  much  to  rekte  a 
heavy  account  to  make,  and  a  dark  road  to  follow,  with 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  n 

burden  of  ill  and  sorrow  to  innocent  and  guilty,  aa  is 
ever  in  this  strange  and  mysterious  world. 

My  earliest  memory  dates  back  to  a  time  when  I  was 
an  eeiie  lad  with  an  old  heart  in  a  young  body,  like  an 
old  sword  in  a  new  sheath,  who  dwelt  with  an  unhappy 
lady,  my  mother,  in  a  rude  stone  sheiling  on  the  rugged 
end  of  a  strath,  which  Ueth  somewhat  to  the  south 
beyond  the  castle.  Here  we  were  attended  by  an  old 
woman  and  her  husband,  an  aged  retired  forester,  and 
here  I  dwelt,  a  lone  child,  cut  off  from  my  kind,  with 
but  half  a  mind  for  play  and  a  great  love  of  dreaming, 
companion  for  the  most  part  to  the  glen  wind  and  the 
voice  of  the  sea,  which  ran,  a  shining  blade,  in  the  knd's 
lap  before  my  home. 

There  were  few  who  came  to  see  us  in  the  lone  glen 
where  we  dwelt,  save  a  stray  traveller,  or  a  mountain 
deer-man  to  consult  with  Murdo  Morrison  or  Murdo  of 
the  Glen,  as  the  old  man  was  caUed,  who  in  his  day  and 
time  had  been  a  king's  huntsman— though  now  long 
waxed  past  his  prime— for  his  fame  for  knowledge  of 
woodcraft  and  venery  was  great  in  the  land. 

Saving  these,  we  were  shunned  and  alone,  as  though 
we  had  been  under  ban  of  Mother  Church.  Scarce  a 
woman  or  child  entered  our  glen,  and  the  slow  knowledge 
I  gained  of  the  world  was  gleaned  from  the  far  glimpse 
of  a  lonely,  soUtary  sheiling,  in  some  glen  apart  from 
ours,  or  the  passing  of  mighty  and  humble,  with  flash 
of  pennon  or  dusty  garb,  to  and  from  the  great  castle 
beyond.    Old  Murdo  was  but  slow  of  speech  and  sparing 


xa 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


with  lu.  word.,  but  I  liked  him  in  my  w.7.  though  I 
oouIdneverf-Ith.thew«ofmykin.  L^didm. 
his  ^e,  Ahum,  an  old  woman  of  much  piety  and  human 
•ctivit^e.  who.  by  but  or  ben.  gave  me  nor  other  any 
peace  with  the  clatter  of  her  tongue  day  or  night  till  . 
memful  fate  took  her  to  her  fathers  for  their  iU  and  the 
world',  good.    I  wiU  not  «y  but  that  Ae  loved  Z 

^K^^I?***?*'^'^*  "^^'  ■°'^  ''^  *^  ''"W  whom 
my  childhood  dmig  to.  loved,  and  wondered  at.  as  a 
being  out  of  place  and  out  of  the  world',  mind,  .hut  off 
m  that  weird,  outlandish  place ;  for  .he  wa.  what  the 
world  caU.  a  great  lady,  and.  from  what  my  childieh 
heart  read  m  the  old  woman's  words  at  stray  times  a 
wronged  and  ill-fated  one.    I  read  this  even  more  tnily 

death  and  a  broken  heart  as  pkinly  as  sea  and  wind 
have  graven  nun  and  age  into  the  face  of  our  ancient 
mountems.    She  was  ever  ill  and   wasted,  like   one 
eaten  by  some  slow  disease  which  disfigures  not  while  it 
alowly  grasps  ito  victim,  but  which  ever  made  her  more 
beautiful  and  noble  looking.    For  she  was  a  beautiful 
woman,  if  a  ««1  one.  and  I  never  wearied  of  garing  into 
her  face  and  of  holding  her  hand  when  she  wodd^have 
me  about  her.  for  she  preferred  that  I  should  be  out  of 
doors  and  grow  strong  and  some  time  be  a  man  and 
avenge  her  woe.    So  I  would  go  forth  and  clench  my 
teeth  and  my  boyidi  fi.t.  and  teU  the  mounteins  and 
the  sea  what  ill  would  come  to  those  who  had  made  her 
-pint  ache  and  her  heart  break  when  T  were  once  a  man 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  xj 

Thus  time  went  on  until  I  grew  to  be  s  sturdy  boy- 
one  not  ill-favoured  in  limb  and  feature,  but  silent  and 
moody  and  fuU  of  whims,  from  being  much  alone,  with 
somewhat  of  that  ruggedness  from  simple  fare  and  much 
outdoor  Kfe  such  as  comes  to  those  who  dweU  in  these 
northern  straths.  So  I  dwelt  with  my  childish  fancies 
and  my  mother's  sr.rows  in  the  vague  imagiwitions  of 
childhood,  nor  ev  dreamed  that  I  had  a  father  in  the 
world  beyond,  oi  jut  of  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

mHE  telling  of  this  t«le  will  be  but  a  slow  and  laborious 
task,  as  I  am  but  a  poor  clerk,  though  my  noble 
mother,  God  assoil  her.  in  her  moments  of  strength 
when  the  disease  was  light  upon  her,  strove  to  put 
■ome  of  the  knowledge  of  letters  into  my  head.  Father 
Angus,  however,  hath  since  told  me  that  a  woman  hath 
no  gift  for  such  work,  yet  i.^.  seemeth  me  that  what  I  got 
of  knowledge  from  my  mother  sank  deeper  into  my 
heart  than  all  the  cunning  lore  of  the  wily  priest,  and 
his  crooked  subdeties  of  thought  and  action. 

That  time,  as  I  afterward  came  to  know  to  my  poor 
sorrow,  and  as  aU  Scotland  now  knoweth,  was  the  day 
of  the  weak  rule  of  my  godly,  but  scarce  kingly,  royal 
cousin   John   Stewart,  commonly  called   Robert   the 
Third,  and  the  ill  he  got,  he,  and  his  sad-fated  son. 
David  of  Rothsay,  whose  fortune  seemeth  much  like 
mine  own.  with  a  dreader  ending,  at  the  hands  of  the 
cruel  and  bloody  Duke  of  Albany.    It  is  not.  however, 
for  me  to  deal  with  that  matter  here,  as  this  history  is 
but  a  ciTide  tale  of  mine  own  part  in  those  evil  days  of 
a  weak  king  and  an  ill  counsellor,  though  what  I  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  mine  evil  cousin,  the  cruel  Albany,  and 


JAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  13 

the  knowledge  it  hath  been  my  fate  to  glean  of  thia 
strange  man's  nature  and  attitude  toward  Ood  and 
man.  even  towarda  hi.  own  Idng.  diaU  be  related  in  it. 
proper  plaoe.    Meanwhile,  remote  from  the  world  of 
court,  and  caetlee,  their  great  .plendour  and  greater  ill 
I  paaeed  the  short  yeara  of  my  early  boyhood  .hut  out 
m  the  lonelinew  of  thi.  northern  .trath.  with  the  voice6 
of  sea  and  i    n'  to  .peak  within  mine  ear.,  and  the 
ghoetly  fingerf  A  sea-mist  and  mountain  rains  to  touch 
me  with  their  close  afimity  of  .adne«i  and   .piritual 
dream  until  I  became  a.  it  were  a  part  of  them  ;  aU  of 
which  hath  had  influence  on  my  .pint  ever  «nce,  when 
an   event    happened  which    changed    my  whole  life 
and  opened  ui  the  door  of  a  darker  and  more  woeful 
exiatence. 

That  winter,  the  first  that  Ueth  heavy  on  my  mind 
because  of  the  dread  .pring  which  foUowed  it.  being  ai 
I  understand  the  fifteenth  year  of  my  boyish  existence 
wa.  a  hard  one  where  all  are  hard  and  cruel  in  these' 
northern  waste,  that  face  on  the  anger  and  wrath  of  the 
North  Sea.    There  wa.  much  .uffering  in  glen  and 
strath  even  to  the  wuthward.  and  the  poor  town,  to  the 
eastward  of  the  extreme  of  our  shire  caUed  the  Cattynes 
but  among  the  poorer  in  the  upper  straths  it  was  a  bar^ 
existence  at  best,  and  had  it  not  been  for  a  secret  know- 
ledge of  venery,  the  nearness  of  mountain  woodland, 
and  a  high  and  enduring  .pint,  few  would  have  been 
in  the  flesh  by  the  Mason  of  the  Shrovetide.    In  our 
mean  household,  however,  there  wemed  naught  in  our 


16 


^^N  OF  Tfrr'  ^ 


'        ^^  ^y  ever  ^  ^^CaDEs 

"^  'boat  „,  .  "»»«e  in  our  Jk       "™  "»«« 

7  'o'  many  a  d««  J^^!?  ^^®  '«  ^Ids  c],n^  7    '  '"S»ed 
"^^a^d  II    ?*^^  «  poor  JT  ''"^^^d  our  drff^ 

,,^"'*^Vdread««^  ''"^  °"' «ortW„ 

*^e  disease  iTk- .    ®**°«  W  a  m 

.*'""«i  it  u^/r'  "  »  b07  will  „i°°"  °'  «»  -tratl,. 
"■""""St  leart  „,;""  "«  '"t  .  1*7    ">"»".  W 

''fie  word  that  J  „,  ^°''Wjng 
^*«  wanted. 


'^e  to  my 

'°^  to  the 
'^ed  where 
'°^8  came 
■  «8»ed  as 
1 1  found 

■•drifted 
s  found 

sea  and 
^rthern 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


Which  made  my  heart  to  turn  cold  anH  ,«^  k    •   ! 

occupied  w«  l„„g  and  W,  . 'dttltZ  Z        "" 
for  some  few  mattei.  «,.„  «,.  "'""•  "^^ 

the  pea^nl    ^nd  1  f  '""^"''^  """"^^  «» 

•  strange  man  in  the  garb  of  a  orieT^^    ^  "°°<' 

Mother !  mother !  »  I  cried  •  "  i«, 
mother !  "  ^ '      ^®*^«  "^e  not,  oh ! 

oH"^anarjroor:^:r'"t-"- 

she  held,  the  only  au„g  „f  JJ'"'  '^'  ''«««>  -- 
to  my  knowledge,  fell  lorn  it^lS;  ""^  ""'  "^^^ 

thc.'^:£';'iie::'^:f^:r'!;^"'"'''-^'"'Me 

g«at  have  CLlt  W  .  tf  '"  *'''  ™  "" 
hut  make  thy  pe::t  h  Oo^-tntl":?:'^  "7"''' 
."«.the  Mother  Chnr^hwin'rt^rtr^ttt 


IB 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


CwFll^f  °°""."«  *°  ■"'  ■"»*•    "But Id^ 

11  ehi,. iCdretr-'""  "*" "''° *"* "'•■'» 

the  c™,  where  I  kneltU  ^"Tde        ^  "'  °'°'"''«' 

N.y,  nay,  „„t  that,"  cried  the  dviag  „„„„   .. , 
fear  worse  UI  may  come     Tl,.,    i.  TT  """""•     ■>» 

%  tou«.  «,d  I  wiU  dietL^t^.  "  ""  '"'<'  "' 

entered.    Th™  rtaH     f    ,""^  "°"""'™  '  «"' 

h«dt.a.yXti:ir%':?,r£;e"^" 

« too  Much.    A.k  „e  all  but  that"  '^'''  " 

At  this  my  mother  half  rosA  in  h.. 
spot  came  in  either  cheek  r^'i"  ^"f  "f.^  'f 
eurse  of  a  dyine  and  a  ™,      !  ™  '*''«  the 

ielped  to  wroC*  '    j^"'"^  r""-'  <>-  ^^  i«ve 

gentle  woman  "^  """"^  '««'  «'«  b^-  • 

-' '  .1"^u°  do':  ""  :f-,  *  «  """ge  .ide-iook  at 
vengeanLT         '  '""'^  '"  "■«  '^'"^-  P««'y  '«'  the 

"nen  God  a.oiI  ye,  Angus,  for  the  wrong  done  me. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  19 

The  vengeance  may  burn  out,  as  hates  and  loves  do  in 
this  world,  though  I  wish  him  no  wrong  who  is,  who 

is "    Here  her  voice  broke.    "  But  I  know  you  will 

be  true  to  this  oath." 

"The  vengeance  will  never  die,"  sa^"  the  priest. 
"  But  fear  ye  not,  my  lady ;  I  will  keep  the  oath." 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened,  which  I  marvelled 
at  greatly,  and  for  a  long  time  after  it  gave  me  deep 
thought. 

"Ian,"  said  my  mother;    "  Ian  "—and  .aere  was 
a  strange  tone  as  of  pride  in  her  voice  for  the  first  time 
in  my  memory  of  her—"  Ian,  my  son,  stand  up."    And 
much  wondering,  and  in  great  sorrow,  I  gat  me  to 
my  feet.    Whereat  this  great  priest — because,  for  all 
his  ill  look,  he  was  a  handsome  man,  and  stately,  and 
looked  to  be  one  fit  for  command — got  him  on  his 
knees  to  me,  as  I  had  never  seen  any  do,  save  to  God. 
And  as  I  marvelled,  not  without  fear,  my  mothei*  said, 
"Ian,  give  him  thy  hand."    Like  one  who  hesitates, 
I  paused,  and  then  stretched  forth  my  small  hand, 
which  he  took  and  carried  to  his  lips,  which  act  made 
me  wonder  the  more  that  he  should  so  demean  himself 
to  a  poor  mountain  boy  raised  in  a  sheiling.    And  I 
marvelled  the  more  because,   his  face  being  partly 
turned  from  my  mother  where  she  lay,  there  still  hun^ 
on  his  looks  that  evil,  cruel  smile,  as  of  one  who  would 
play,  as  I  learned  afterward,  at  mock  courtiership. 
At  the  time,  however,  I  but  saw  and  understood  in 
my  boyish  way,  and  feared,  knowing  not  why.    And 


ao 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


It  ieemed  to  me  that  the  man  knew  how  muoh  I  read 
imn,  and  what  I  felt,  and  enjoyed  it  in  his  own  evil 
w»y.  Not  that  the  scene  was  not  all  solemn  enough 
for,  though  I  was  ignorant  of  the  matter,  I  could  not 
but  feel  that  it  had  to  do  with  something  strange  in 
our  lives,  and  this  made  it  aU  the  more  dreadful 

"  Angus."  said  my  mother,  after  garing  at  the  priest 
m  silence  for  some  time,  "  Angus,  wilt  thou  be  true 
to  the  fiar  of  thine  house,  wilt  thou  serve  him  in  peace 
and  m  war,  in  ill-time  and  weal-time.  and  defend  him 
from  the  fire  and  the  steel,  and  wilt  thou  be  as  his 
blade  m  the  sheath  to  deal  to  the  death  with  his  foes  • 
wilt  thou  do  this  for  him  who  is  prince  and  earl  of 
strath  and  glen,--wilt  thou  do  aU  this,  Angus  Dhu,  under 
the  blight  and  ban  of  the  ancient  earls  of  the  Orcades  ?  » 
I  knew  not  then,  but  afterward  learned  that  this  was 
a  dread  oath  which  the  most  abandoned  of  our  house 
would  not  dare  break,  even  though  he  murdered  priest 
at  the  altar  and  viokted  God's  sanctuary.    Yet  I  saw 
that  he  felt  it  deeply,  and  his  face  went  white  for  a 
moment;  but  in  the  end  he  said,  far  down  in  his  throat 
as  with  an  effort,  "  I  will  do  it,  mistress  of  my  house  • 
I  wUl  keep  this  oath  till  I  die  »    Whereat  my  mother 
cned.     Now  I  die  easy."    And  he  arose,  catlike,  and 
with  the  silken  poUsh  of  one  used  to    -     -,  and  stood 
with  that  sardonic  smile  on  eyr    ^d  up. 

"  Ian,  my  son."  cried  my  mother.  "  come  to  me  " 
And  I  fell  on  the  Ud  at  her  breast  and  wept.  Then  she 
said,  "  Kiss  me,  my  son,"  and  I  kissed  her  'mid  a  sad 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  ai 

mlenoe.  for  my  heart  was  too  choked  for  wonb,  aa  is 
the  way  of  youth. 

"Ian,"  she  said,  "be  a  good  man.  be  true  to  thy 
God  and  thy  house."  Then  she  gazed  on  me  with  a 
long,  hungering  look,  and  I  saw,  as  one  who  looketh 
on  a  far-fading  sunset,  a  grey  peace  steal  over  her 
fece.  hke  on  a  beautiful  land  where  the  day  goes  out. 
Then  the  dread  priest,  for  the  first  and  last  time  with 
some  compunction  of  tenderness,  led  me  sobbing  from 
the  room,  while  the  wild  wail  of  the  death  coronach 
from  the  woman  and  man  of  the  house  told  me  that 
I  was  alone  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  III 


QNLY  he  who  hath  suffered  as  I  have,  and  so  early 
in  youth,  may  feel  somewhat  of  the  woe  and 
heartbreak  which  that,  the  following,  week  held  for 
me.  With  a  child's  fear  of  death  I  fled  from  the  house 
where  that  beautiful  mask,  which  had  once  been  my 
mother,  now  lay,  in  that  white  stillness  where  aU  earthly 
care  hath  an  end. 

fUp  the  strath  I  went,  my  dog  whimpering  at  my 
heels  as  though  he  felt  for  my  grief,  no  more  whistling 
but  with  a  cold  stupor  upon  me,  that  ever  anon  was' 
changed  to  terrible  weeping  as  if  my  heart  would 
burst  with  Its  dread  sorrow  and  loneliness. 

There  was  a  place  where  my  mother  would  sit  in 

the  old  times  before  she  became  so  weak,  where  there 

was  a  clear  spring  like  to  Umpid  crystal,  which  sprang 

from  a  rock  mider  a  high  cliff ;  and  beside  it  were  the 

remains  of  an  old  cairn  and  underground  house-aome 

said  made  by  the  fairies,  those  Uttle  folk  who  inhabited 

this  place  long  ere  our  ancestors  came.    It  was  a  quiet 

and  secluded  place,  and  here  I  used  to  play,  while  my 

mother  sat  and  watched  me ;  or.  when  tired,  I  would 

hold  her  hand  in  mine,  and  we  would  sit  and  think 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  23 

for  she  was  a  woman  of  little  speech,  and  I  have  thought 
since  that  her  great  trouble  concerning  me  made  her 
dumb  with  sorrow  and  grief  that  she  could  not  share 
with  me.  Here  I  came  now  and  v-ept  out  my  childish 
woe,  so  that  by  the  day  of  the  funeral  my  mind  was, 
if  not  more  settled,  at  least  worn  and  benumbed. 

It  was  a  grey  day  on  sea  and  shore  when  they  bore 
her  out  and  laid  her  to  rest  in  a  lonely  place  by  the 
hillside.    There  were  none  present  save  our  own  house- 
hold and  a  few  others  called  in  for  the  purpose,  so  that 
it  was  a  quiet  and  sober  funeral,  as  became  a  lonely 
and  sad  life.    The  priest,  with  his  sinister  face,  was 
the  only  stranger  there.    When  he  had  hurried  through 
the  rites  of  the  Church,  for  which  he  seemed  to  have 
but  httle  love,  and  they  had  closed  in  the  rude  stones 
of  the  place  of  sepulchre,  the  few  attendants  departed 
and  left  me  alone.    Then  a  great  sense  of  desoUtion 
overcame  me,  and  I  threw  myself  in  bitter  anguish 
on  the  stones  beneath  which  she  lay.    As  I  moaned 
there  I  felt  a  touch  on  my  shoulder,  and  the  priest 
was  beside  me.    I  stood  up  with  some  embarrassment, 
for  I  feared  and  disliked  him,  and  cared  not  that  he 
should  see  my  sorrow,  which  he  seemed  in  an  unnatural 
manner  to  enjoy,  like  to  one  who  feeds  on  this  world's 
bitterness. 

"  Boy,"  he  said  sternly,  "  thy  fathers  were  men ; 
tears  are  for  women  only.  Dry  this  your  woe,  and 
shame  not  your  race." 

"  My  race ! "  I  said  slowly,  and  with  effort,  for  I 


M 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


was  timid  of  speech  with  strangers,  and  with  this  man 
wpeciaUy ;  "  I  know  no  race,  but  my  heart  bleeda 
because  that  I  am  so  lonely."  And  my  pride  smote 
me  that  I  had  opened  my  soul  even  a  little  to  this 
cold  man. 

"Lonely,"  he  answered,  in  his  cutting  way;    "the 
whole  world  is  lonely.    See  yon  bleak  moorland,  it 
18  no  more  lonely  than  are  most  lives.    Ixwk  on  yon 
vast  desolate  ocean,  it  is  a  blossoming  oasis  to  the 
desolation  that  holds  some  souls.     This  world,  boy  is 
but  a  wild  desert,  and  men  the  cruel  beasts  that  infest 
It,  to  clutch  at  each  other's  throats.    Dry  thy  woe 
and  take  this  which  I  have  brought  you.    It  is  thine 
by  right,  for  thou  art  nobly  bom."    And  he  drew 
from  under  his  mantle  a  smaU  belt  of  shining,  wrought 
steel  hnks,  on  which  was  worked  a  crest,  and  attached 
to  which  was  a  short  dirk  of  wondrously  wrought  metal 
ncUy  inlaid  with  rare  stones;  and  ere  I  could  think 
he  was  kneeling  again  in  that  strange  fashion,  as  he' 
had  done  at  my  mother's  bedside,  and  had  belted  it 
about  my  waist.    My  wonder  now  overcame  my  fear 
of  the  man.  and  a  queer  feeling  as  of  power  of  command 
possessed  me,  a  sense  auch  as  bad  come  to  me  before 
when  out  in  the  strath  alone,  and  I  looked  down  at 
him  and  said,  "  Who  am  I  ?  " 

"  Y^'^'"  te  said,  "  are  Ian  of  the  Orcades,  earl  and 
lord  m  the  eyes  of  Heaven,  and  I  am  thy  vassal."  Then 
taking  my  hand  in  the  same  mocking  way.  he.  with  one 
knee  on  the  ground,  kissed  it  as  though  I  had  been 


! 


I 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  25 

a  Idng  and  he  a  courtiep,  and  ere  I  had  time  to  answer 
had  turned  and  left  me. 

When  he  had  gone,  and  I  had  recovered  from  my 
boy,.h  wonder.  I  drew  the  dirk,  for  I  knew  it  was  one, 
from  the  sheath,  and  it  flashed  in  the  air.  and  I  wondered 
the  more  that  I.  a  mountain  boy.  should  be  given  such 
a  weapon  and  for  what  purpose,  because  I  feared  the 
man.  lest  he  owed  me  some  hate  and  wished  me  no 
good  save  for  his  own  ends.    Of  his  strange  words  to 
me  and  those  of  my  mother  to  him  on  her  deathbed 
I  could  make  little  sense.    I  resolved,  however,  to  ask 
old  Murdo.  as  my  desire  was  to  solve  the  mystery 
As  I  approached  the  shelling  again  a  strange  thi^ 
happened,  for  old  Murdo  no  sooner  saw  me  with  the 
gleaming  belt  and  dagger  at  my  waist,  than  a  great 
fear  and  trembling  took  him,  like  one  who  hath  a 
palsy. 

"  What  aileth  thee.  Murdo  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Art  thou 
II  ?  For  T  loved  the  old  man  and  feared  the  loss 
01  another  friend. 

"  Ian,  dread  Heaven,  boy.  where  ^-.t'st  thou  that  ?  " 
pointing  at  the  belt  and  dagger. 

"It  is  mine  own."  I  cried  in  wonder,  and  with  a 
certam  pride.  • 

wW^'^n  T  \  ™'  '"'  '  °''^^-  Thou  hast  done 
what  will  be  thy  ruin.  boy.  TeU  me  quick,  where 
got'st  thou  that  ?  " 

.Jf^V  I"'**/  '°  *"«^''  "^°"  "^'"^  *«"  ^^  who 
am  1,  and  what  this  means." 


if 

i 


11 


. 


\\ 


a6 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  I  mav'  not.  ruh  boj,"  he  cried.    "  But  this  means 
death  to  thee  and  me." 

"  Death  or  not,"  I  cried,  for  I  was  desperate,  "  I 
littie  care.  There  is  something  in  me,  old  man,  which 
tells  me  that  I  was  bom  to  command  and  you  to  obey. 
Now  tell  me  who  I  am  and  what  this  means,"  and  I 
looked  at  him  as  I  had  looked  at  the  priest,  and  he 
■tarted  back  in  alarm  and  astonishment.  Then  he 
bent  on  one  knee. 

"  Ian,  lord,"  he  said,  "  forgive  me,  an  old  man,  if 
I  may  not  teU  thee,  it  is  not  for  thee  to  know,  but  if 
thou  wouldst  not  bring  ruin  and  death  on  one  who 
hath  loved  and  served  thy  mother  and  thee,  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  tell  me  who  gave  you  yon  dagger  and 
oeit  i 

*'  The  priest,"  I  answered. 

"  The  priest !  "  he  said.    "  Not  Father  Angus  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  I  said. 

"  The  devil."  cried  the  old  man.  "  The  dark,  schem- 
ing  devil,  his  hate  is  still  upon  him.  he  will  never  stay 
till  aU  be  doomed."  He  spake  this  to  himself,  then 
turmng  to  me.  "  Boy,"  he  said,  "  dost  thou  know  that 
It  meaneth  death  for  him  who  weareth  yon  bauble  «  " 
"Death?"  I  cried. 

"Yes,  death,"  he  answered.  "To  me  or  any,  but 
more  so  to  you,  did  he  who  hath  the  power  or  any  of 
his  foUowing  but  see  thee  as  thou  art.  Be  advised 
by  me,  give  me  yon  that  I  may  hide  it  so  that  none 
see  It  any  more,  and  it  bring  not  ruin  upon  us  all." 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  27 

nof  f  n'  "  '*  r\"^"  "'^  ' "  '  ''"•^ ;"  and  will  you 
not  teU  me  who  I  am?    I  am  but  a  lad  and  it  can  do 

from  what  thou  sayeat  and  what  yon  evil  prieat  hath 
•aid  coupled  with  what  my  sainted  mother  spake  ere 
her  death  .t  ««meth  to  me  that  I  am  no  ^mmon 
^«on.  If  this  be  so.  why  am  I  here,  and  why  thi^ 
■trange  cloud  about  my  life  ?  » 

"My  son."  he  answered,  "there  be  the  words  that 
we  can  speak  and  there  be  the  silence  which  we  must 
keep  for  the  good  of  all.  But  thy  question  is  fair,  and 
If  thou  wUt  but  be  advised  and  give  thy  Murdo  the 
akene  dhu.  she  will  herself  put  it  where  it  wiU  be  safe 
and  hurt  none,  then  will  I  teU  thee  something  of  what 
thou  want'st  to  know." 

•  "J^f-!^^  '•  "^  ^  "''*•  '°^  i*  "  °^ne  own  by 
nght  of  gift,  and  no  man  shall  take  it  from  me  «ive 
by  force.    But  if  thou  wilt  tell  me  wUt  I  would  know 
I  mU  put  it  off  and  hide  it  myself  where  none  may 
Me.      And  I  mibuckled  the  belt  and  hid  it  and  the 
dagger  m  my  clothes  mitU  I  should  come  to  the  hiding, 
place  I  had  in  mind,  for  I  made  inward  resolve  that 
nohap  what  should  come  to  me.  I  would  never  yield 
tlus.  the  only  clue  to  my  real  place  in  the  world  which 
1  hoped  some  day  to  find  out  for  myself. 

"Aye,  that  be  weU."  said  the  old  man,  "if  thou 
wilt  not  part  with  it.  But  as  thou  lovest  life  and 
liberty,  show  it  to  no  man.  for  to  do  so  would  be  thy 
dea,..    But  I  fear  me  it  is  in  the  blood;    thou  wilt 


u 


•«  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

not  be  adviMd,  and  ever  would  h«ve  thine  own  wilfnl 
way.  But,  Ian,  my  son,"  he  continued,  "  it  may  be 
better  with  thee  if  thou  wilt  forget  ail  r  ih  thou 
dreameet  and  bide  here  with  thy  Murdo  tUl  thou  art 
a  man  of  valour  to  carve  thine  own  way  in  the  world." 
"  Be  that  at  it  may."  said  I.  "  If  you  will  not  teU 
me  I  must  needs  wait ;  but  know  I  shall  when  the 
time  comes,  even  if  it  be,  as  thou  sayest,  my  death." 
"  'Tis  like  them  a',  like  them  a',"  mumbled  the  old 
man.  as  he  hobbled  away  to  avoid  further  question. 

Scarce  waiting  tiU  he  was  out  of  sight,  I  hurried  up 
the  strath  to  the  hiding-place  of  my  desire,  which  waa 
Mught  more  than  the  grave  of  my  mother.    For  hen 
waa  mine  altar  and  my  link  with  aU  I  loved  .  nd  aU  I 
suffered,  and  it  was  here  that  I  came  with  my  thought! 
•nd  dreams.    Seeking  a  Uttle  cleft  in  the  rude  stones, 
where  it  was  safe  from  wind  and  wet  and  prying  eyes.' 
I  hid  the  only  precious  possession,  save  my  mother's 
prayer-beads,  which  I  had  in  the  world,  and  I  seemed 
to  value  It  the  more,  by  some  childish  mood,  because 
It  boded  danger  to  me  to  have  it  in  possession.    He«j 
I  came  day  by  day  alone  by  myself  to  utter  my  grief 
or  to  examine  and  wonder  at  this  dire  gift  of  the  weird 
priest,  until  at  last  my  sorrow  made  some  abatement 
and  my  desire  to  know  more  of  the  world  and  what 
It  had  m  store  for  me  grew  stronger.    Then  an  event 
took  pUce  which  changed  my  life  and  brought  me 
out  of  my  foolish  dreams  into  that  world  of  my  heart's 
desire. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"S^Ti^K^^r  "!.*  '"*"'  '•**  '•'•  ^^y  •»«>*»>•'•»  Wood 

Who  to^H     ?"  j"^*"  L   "^^  -'"•  »»«-*  »««««»  th-  both. 
Who  now  do  .tend  in  bitter  feud  Wth  he«ven.'_OW  t!^„. 

mHB  days  had  worn  on  from  summer  toward  autumn 
whUe  naught  had  occurred  to  alter  my  sad  Ufe 
in  that  lone  glen  by  the  North  Sea.    The  place  had 
now  become  unbearaMe  to  my  ver^  soul,  so  that  had 
any  chance  offered,  young  and  ignorant  of  the  world 
as  I  was.  I  would  aingle-hearted  have  wended  my  way 
and  sought  my  fortune  in  the  world  beyond.    I  still 
had  a  foolish  hope  that  the  cmming  priest  would  come 
back  and  m  some  way  make  good  his  words  to  my 
dead  mother,  for  I  felt  that  there  was  a  debt  of  hate 
of  his  to  be  repaid  with  which  my  life  was  somewhat 
mixed  up,  and  that  not  for  love  of  me,  but  for  evil 
to  someone  else,  he  would  sooner  or  later  bring  himself 
into  my  life  again.    So  sick  was  I  of  the  duU  monotony 
of  that  lonely  glen  with  that  old  scolding  wife  and 
doting  man.  that  I  looked  with  longing  for  the  worst 
that  the  pnest  might  do,  for  that  I  was  to  be  but  bird- 
hme  to  his  vengeance  had  got  itself  into  my  precocious 
boy-mmd ;    nor  was  I  mistaken,  as  the  sequel  will 


30 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADhS 


show,  but  it  aU  came  about  in  a  manner  which  I  least 
expected. 

One  fair  afternoon  in  earl^  autumn  I  had  gone  to 
my  favourite  shrine,  and,  sick  at  heart,  I  lay  weary  and 
lonely  at  my  mother's  grave,  when  on  a  sudden  I  heard 
an  unusual  noise,  and  looking  up  saw  a  sight  at  once 
the  rarest  and  fairest  I  had  yet  seen.    It  was  a  smaU 
group  of  men  on  horse  and  afoot,  that  came  riding 
merrily  and  lightly  up  the  strath,  and  in  their  van  was 
one  who,  as  he  came  nearer,  I  perceived  to  be  a  lad 
about  my  owrx  age,  though  he  might  have  been  younger 
but  he  seemed  stronger  and  bolder  and  nobler  of  fac^ 
than  I  fancied  such  as  I  could  ever  be,  by  reason  of 
the  pleasure  and  joy  of  his  existence.    As  he  came 
near.  I  could  see  from  where  I  lay  that  he  was  one  to 
whom  the  others  deferred,  as  though  he  were  of  high 
station.    When  I  saw  the  sun  shine  on  his  noble,  frank 
fair  face,  and  in  his  golden  hair  which  hung  to  hil 
shoulders,  and  saw  his  fine  bold  carriage,  I  felt  that 
he  was  one  whom  I  could  have  loved  as  brother,  and 
this  feeling  clung  to  my  heart,  being  but  a  lonely  outcast 
boy  who  longed  for  love  and  companionship,  as  the 
sick,  caged  eaglet  longs  for  its  nest  in  the  far  crags.    As 
they  came  near  me,  however,  a  strange  shyness  of 
spirit  overcame  me,  who  was  Uttle  used  to  unfamiliar 
faces,  and  mingled  with  this  was  a  pride  of  retirement 
I  ever  have  had,  from  nature  and  mine  u.^.3ual  up- 
bringing.   So  that,  much  as  I  longed  to  be  one  of  this 
gay  company,  and  to  enter  into  their  life,  yet  I  he.  my 


IAN  OF  FHE  ORCADES  31 

peace  thif  they  might  ride  by  or  return  without  seeing 
me.    MeanwhiJe  I  marvelled  also  what  could  bring 
horeemen  so  far  up  this  remote  glen,  where  there  was 
but  poor  footing,  and  no  road  for  cavaliers  or  apparent 
object  for  their  quest.    As  I  lay  and  marvelled  at  this 
rare  lad,  his  fine  manners  and  rich  trappings,  and  the 
free  way  in  which  he  lorded  it  over  those  other  men 
who  were  all  of  them  much  his  senior  in  years,  a  certain 
anger  and  heart-burning  took  possession  of  me  at  the 
contrast  he  made  with  my  sad  Ufe,  and  which  boded 
no  good  for  our  meeting,  as  what  follows  will  show. 
When  he  had  come  abreast  of  where  I  was  he  stayed 

his  steed,  and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  gloved  hand, 

called  to  one  of  his  serving-men— 
"There  is  the  hut.    By  my  soul,  my  tutor  Angus 

IS  no  Uar !    'Tis  as  he  hath  said.    Forward,  Roderick. 

Ride  thee  forward  and  teU  Murdo  of  the  Glen  that  I 

would  speak  him  here  on  a  matter  of  venery." 
"  Will  your  lordship  not  come  to  the  hut  ? "  said 

the  man. 

"Nay,  churi,  'tis  my  will  to  stay  here;    and  bid 
thou  him  haste,  or  thy  fool-hide  shall  knowmywhip;  » 
and  without  delay  the  man  rode  forward.    Just  then 
the  youth  spied  me  where  I  lay,  and  with  an  insolent 
laugh  which  turned  aU  my  good  wUl  and  admiration 
into  hate,  and  my  fear  to  a  cold  pride,  he  came  forward 
and  cried,  "By  the  good  St.  Denis,  whom  have  we 
here  ?  »    And  not  liking  his  haughty  looks  and  the 
cold  wonder  in  the  faces  of  his  followers,  I  slowly  rose 


33 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I. 


from  the  grave  and  returned  his  insolence  with  a  fierce, 
silent  anger  that  battled  with  my  shyness  to  burst 
into  vindictive  utterance.  Not  a  word  did  I  nor  any 
about  him  speak,  but  he  looked  me  over  as  if  I  were 
some  strange  quarry  brought  to  bay,  and  then  demanded, 
as  one  expecting  obedience — 

"  Well,  churl,  hast  thou  a  tongue,  or  muat  I  ride 
thee  down  ? "  And  he  spurred  his  horse  as  if  to  do 
ao;  when,  blind  with  anger  which  found  quicker  vent 
in  action  than  in  swift  speech,  I  grasped  his  horse  by 
the  bridle  and  jerked  so  hard  as  to  almost  throw  him 
back  quivering  on  his  haunches. 

"  Thou  hound,"  lie  cried  in  imperious  rage,  "  thou 
Shalt  die  for  this !  "  And  his  followers  would  have 
attacked  me.  but  he  ordered  them  back. 

"On  your  lives,"  he  cried,  "touch  him  not,  this 
is  my  quarrel !  " 

"Insolent  stranger,"  cried  I,  finding  my  tongue, 
"  would  you  violate  the  place  of  the  dead  ?  " 

"  Stand  back ! "  he  again  cried,  as  his  followers  would 
have  menaced  me.    • 

"  But,  my  lord "  cried  one  of  them. 

"  Nay  !  "  he  cried.  "  See,  he  is  but  a  lad  like  myself, 
and  hath  spirit,  and  my  father's  son  liketh  well  to  quell 
such  a  soul." 

"  By  my  mother's  soul,"  cried  I,  "  you  shall  rue  it 
do  you  touch  me ! "  At  this  his  followers  rudely  laughed, 
as  if  it  were  all  rare  sport,  but  the  youth  got  him  from 
his  horse  and  came  toward  me. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  33 

"  Touch  thee !  "  he  cried,  as  he  did  so.    "  I  will 
scourge  thee,  churl,  till  I  curb  thine  insolent  spirit." 

"  I  am  no  churl,"  I  answered,  "  but  as  good,  and 
better,  than  thee."  I  know  not  why  I  snake  thus,  but 
something  in  me  prompted  the  words,"  knowing  the 
little  I  did.  * 

"He  shaU  hang  for  this,"  said  the  eldest  of  the 
following. 

"  Hang  ?    I  shall  chastise  him  first,  and  hang  him 
afterward;"    and   drawing   a    dirk  which    he  wore 
similar  to  the  one  which  I  had  hid,  but  not  so  brave' 
in  trapping,  he  advanced  with  whip  in  one  hand  and 
It  in  the  other.    It  now  seemed  to  be  in  bad  case  with 
me,  who  was  but  a  lad  with  no  experience  of  such 
matters,  being  also  unarmed  and  at  the  mercy  of  this 
Btrange,  headstrong  youth  and  those  cruel  men  who 
seemed  bent  on  aiding  him  in  any  cruelty  he  might 
commit.    So  that  I  felt  that  death  or  humiliation  were 
p  7  fate  if  something  intervened  not  to  prevent.    There 
was  one  way  out  of  the  matter,  and  that  was  to  flee ; 
but  for  all  my  fear,  and  my  heart  beat  Uke  to  burst! 
there  was  that  madness  of  pride  in  me  which  would 
have  dared  anything  rather  than  that  I  should  aUow 
this  haughty  youth   to  have  his  will.    Therefore   I 
stood  my  ground,  clenching  my  fists,  and  met  his 
insolent  look  with  a  bold  fierceness  that  made  even 
him  marvel. 

"Who  art  thou,  indeed,"  he  said,    "who   would 
gainsay  my  will  ? ' 
3 


34 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


V    ! 


/, 


sfei 


"  Rather  would  I  know  who  you  are  ? "  I  answered 
in  quick  reply.  « I  am  dweUer  here,  thou  but  a  strange 
comer."  ^ 

"Knowest  me  not?"  he  asked,  half  in  wonder,  for 
my  proud  answer  seemed  to  trouble  him. 
^^  But    here    the    elder   horseman   again  intervened. 

Knowest  thou  not,  rash  boy,  whom  thou  art  address- 
ing ? "  he  said.  But  as  he  spake  he  eyed  me  over  with 
some  misgiving  at  my  appearance  and  boldness. 

"  Nay,"  I  answered.  "  And  why  should  I,  for  aU 
thy  brave  trappings  and  insolent  speech  ?  " 

"  A  truce  to  this  insolence,"  said  the  man.  "  Tell  me 
thy  name,  boy,  or  I  will  hang  you  to  the  nearest  tree." 
If  you  will  have  it.  then,"  I  cried  in  my  mad,  foolish 
pnde,  as  if  I  were  acting  a  part  in  some  wild  dream, 
and  though  I  had  but  mine  own  suspicions,  and  the 
evil  pnest's  words  for  it,  "  I  am  of  noble  birth." 

"  Noble,"  said  the  elder  horseman,  and  some  started, 
though  the  most  burst  into  a  derisive  laugh. 

"Most  august  lord  of  the  glens,"  said  the  youth  in 
mockery,  "we  would  soon  have  thy  hatchments  for 
thy  funeral.  By  what  designation  would  we  bespeak 
your  lordship  ? " 

"Ian  of  the  Orcades,"  I  cried.  At  that  they  aU 
started,  some  in  fear,  some  in  anger ;  but  I  looked  the 
proud  lad  in  the  eye  and  he  eyed  me  back ;  but  neither 
could  look  the  other  down.  The  elder  horseman  spat 
out  a  tembleoath.  and  cried,  "This  play  hath  gone 
too  far,  my  lord." 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


35 

"Believ'st  me  not?"  I  cried.    But  the  men  all 
gazed  with  a  strange  look  at  me  and  the  young  lad 
who  also  stared  at  me  with  astonishment.    Then  he 
flMd,  "  Who  art  thou  who  darest  to  wear  my  father's 
name  ?  " 

"  Thy  father's  name  ?  "  I  cried,  now  startled  in  my 
turn.  '' 

"Yea,  my  father's  name,"  he  said.  "And  did  I 
not  beUeve  thee  to  be  some  poor  fool,  it  would  seem 
but  a  poor  play  thou  playest,  though  it  is  but  right 
to  tell  thee  that  it  meaneth  thy  death." 

"  So  I  were  told,"  I  cried. 
^^  "Dost  thou  not  understand,"  said  the  elder   man 
that  thou  hast  insolently  and  impudently  taken  U> 
thyself  the  name  and  titles  of  the  most  puissant  noble 
Ian  who  alone  is  known  as  Earl  of  the  Orcades.  and 
of  this  mighty  earidom  of  the  Cattynes  ? " 

"  'Tis  a  base  lie  !  "  I  cried ;  '■  as  indeed  I  wiU  show 
you.      And  ere  they  could  stop  me  I  had  shpped  to 
^e  other  aide  of  the  tomb,  and,  buckling  on  my  jewelled 
belt  and  dagger,  faced  them.    "  'Tis  a  base  lie  "  I  re 
peat^.    "See  my  proof.    'Tis  I  alone  am  Ian' of  the 
Orcades ;     and  I  drew  my  dagger  and  faced  them  in 
the  sunhght.    At  that  there  was  a  strange  amazement 
wnt  on  their  faces,  and  every  man  there  of  the  retainers 
bowed  his  head  ere  he  could  think  twice  at  the  sight  of 
me  and  that  gleaming  belt.   I  saw  that  for  the  moment 
I  had  the  most  of  them  at  disadvantage;    aU  save 
the  elder  man,  who  swore  a  great  oath  and  knit  his 


36 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I  h  ■ 


I. 


i 


brows.    But  the  youth,  to  my  surprise,  when  he  saw 
the  belt  I  wore,  uttered  a  wUd  cry  of  rage. 

"Impious  thief!"  he  cried.  "Where  stolest  thou 
my  belt  ?  "  And  ere  they  could  stay  him  he  sprang 
with  uphfted  dagger  on  to  the  grave  and  over  to  where 
I  was.  But  I  faced  him  with  mine,  its  jeweUed  hilt 
gleaming  in  the  sunUght.  There  we  stood  Hke  two 
young  cocks  in  a  pit,  ready  to  have  at  each  other. 

"  Thou  hast  stolen  my  father's  name :  thou  hast 
scolen  my  belt,"  he  cried,  "  and  thou  shalt  die !  "  And 
he  made  as  though  to  strike  me  with  b^s  dagger.  Now 
I  was  new  to  this  sort  of  business,  and  for  a  moment 
a  mist  came  over  mine  eyes,  but  I  breathed  a  prayer 
and  determined  to  die  rather  than  be  conquered. 

"My  lord,"   cried  the  elder  horseman,   "in  your 
father's  name,  I  command  you,  this  hath  gone  too 
far."    But  the  youth  faced  me  with  that  anger  not 
to  be  curbed;    and  as  for  me,  I  was  beyond  aU  else 
Bave  a  desire  to  do  my  part  in  a  game  new  to  mine 
untutored  youth,  and  to  save  myself  without  dishonour 
So  there  we  faced  each  other  with  bated  breath  and 
daggers  lifted  each  seeking  to  ward,  or  get  the  advan- 
tage, when  suddenly  a  stem  voice  cried  "Hold! "  and 
there  betwixt  us  stood  the  priest,  with  a  look  of  mingled 
reproof  and  sarcastic  pleasT  re  on  his  cruel  face. 

"  So ! "  he  said,  eyeing  each  of  us  in  turn  as  a  mature 
man  may  patronise  youths  when  he  pleases,  "we  are 
having  a  pretty  rehearsal  of  the  old  play  of  Cain  and 
Abel." 


i[ 


Ian  ok  the  Ok(  ai)k> 


.'( 


/, 


p 

ft' 

!! 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  37 

"What!  '  cried  the  youth.  "My  worthy  tutor, 
st«d  b  ck!  This  is  too  much  even  from  thee!" 
And  when  he  faced  the  priest  I  saw  hatred  written  on 
his  boyish  face. 

"It  i.  too  much."  answered   the  priest  sternly. 
Know  ye  not,  my  lord,  that  ye  are  brothers  ?  " 

T  ^'^T^^" ' "  "^^  *^*  y^'***^  ^  amazement,  while 
I  8t^  silent,  wondering  at  this  new  turn  of  affairs 

t  ^/'*'>:°*'^"»"  ««weied  the  priest,  "of  the  same 
father.  Tbs  is  thy  brother  of  the  half-blood,  son  of 
thy  father,  and  but  one  year  thy  senior,  Ian  the  bastard  » 
He  spake  the  last  word  in  a  bitter  way,  as  though  he 
enjoyed  it,  and  yet  it  tasted  badly  in  his  mouth. 

At  these  words  of  the  priest  the  train-men  feU  back 
in  astomshment,  and  the  elder  horseman  cried.  "  Father 
Angus,  this  be  a  dangerous  matter,  we  must  away  " 

•  Thou  an  right."  said  the  priest,  with  that  smile 
on  his  face,  looking  at  us  both,  while  we  stood  eyeing 
each  other  and  begimiing  to  see,  as  did  the  othen 
the  strong  resembhince  betwixt  us ;    save  that  I    a 
little  the  elder,  was  smaller,  and  less  favoured  for  my 
age,  whereas  my  brother,  for  so  now  must  I  caU  him 
was  the  finer  figured,  and  the  blither  to  look  upon      ' 
"Come,"  cried  the  priest,  "ere  you  part,  my  nobfe 
nephews,  take  hands  and  make  friendship  for  the  love 
of  the  house  where  so  much  love  hath  dwelt,"  he  con- 
tmued  sarcastically. 

"  l^''  ^^  said,  turning  to  me.  "  'tis  thy  noble  brother, 
the  Lord  Hugh." 


38 


IAN  OF  THEORCADES 


/, 


"  Nay ! "  cried  my  brother,  over  whose  spirit,  na  I 
afterward  found,  a  new  mood  chased  the  old  as  sun 
chases  shadow  on  an  autumn  morning,  "  but  if  he  be 
my  brother  indeed,  why  should  we  part  ?  " 

"  Yea,  that  is  the  question,  my  lord,"  answered  the 
priest  maliciously. 

"More,"  continued  Hugh,  "hath  he  not  spirit? 
Is  he  not  of  the  blood  ?  Is  he  not  that  companion 
for  whom  I  have  long  sought  ?  " 
^^  "  Jn  truth,  it  is  a  filial  feeUng,"  answered  the  priest, 
"  and  well  becometh  thy  birth  and  mine  upbringing." 
"  Then,"  continued  Hugh,  "  why  should  he  not  come 
with  us  to  the  castle  ?  " 

^^  Here  the  elder  man  spake  up  in  some  trepidation. 
"  My  lord,  my  lord !  "  he  cried,  "  remember  your  nobl.j 
father,  your  lady  mother  !  " 

"  I  care  not,"  cried  Hugh ;  "  he  is  my  brother,  he 
shall  come  !    I  have  said  it !  " 

Well,  then,"  cried  Father  Angus  to  the  elder  man, 
"we  must  e'en  submit  when  his  lordship  decides." 
But  I  could  see  that  beneath  aU  he  was  but  too  weU 
pleased,  and  I  began  to  understand  that  this  was  his 
work,  this  bringing  us  together,  though  one  look  at 
his  face  showed  that  it  was  for  no  good  to  any  but 
himself.  As  for  the  other  men,  they  stood  back  in 
silence,  keeping  behind  the  elder  horseman,  who  muttered 
and  swore  under  his  beard  as  if  he  knew  this  to  be  but 
the  beginning  of  storms.  As  for  myself,  in  the  whirl 
of  mingled  emotions  which  occupied  my  mind  I  could 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  39 

think  ■*■  dimly;  but  among  theae  senaationa  was 
one  whic  came  uppermost,  namely,  the  thought  of  a 
chance  to  escape  from  my  loneliness,  added  to  which 
was  an  already  budding  liking  for  the  young  lord  to 
whom  I  was  called  brother. 

Impetuous  and  headstrong,  he  did  not  ask  any  leave 
in  the  matter,  but  expecting  obedience,  he  merely  asked, 
" Ian,  canst  thou  ride  ?  "    "I  can  but  try,"  I  answered, 
and  it  was  but  a  short  space  of  time  before  one  of  his 
followers  was  dispossessed  of  his  horse  for  my  benefit, 
and  I  was  myself  one  of  those  gay  cavaliers  whom  I  had 
often  envied  from  my  lonely  hill  glen.    I  would  have 
stayed  to  bid  the  old  man  and  woman  farewell,  but  he 
would  not  have  it,  nor  did  he  wait  to  speak  to  the  old 
man  on  the  important  matter  upon  which  he  had  come, 
for,  as  I  have  before  said,  I  soon  found  that  a  new  toy 
or  a  new  pleasure  only  too  soon  made  him  forget  the  old. 
So,  with  a  last  sad  look  upon  the  grave  of  her  to  whom 
on  this  earth  I  owed  a  childish  love  and  a  pure  memory, 
I  mounted  as  I  saw  the  others  do,  though  more  awk- 
wardly, and  soon  had  left  the  place  of  my  soUtary 
childhood.    It  seemed  a  strange  dream,  with  this  noble, 
flashing,  new  brother  on  the  one   hand,  and  a  little 
behind  on  the  other  the  furtive-looking   priest,  who 
watched  us  both  with  a  sarcastic  inward  smile,  as  of 
one  musing  over  evil  possibilities 

"  A  rare  man  that  uncle  of  ours,"  said  Hugh,  denoting 
the  priest  with  a  look  of  disUke.  "  He  and  I  hate  each 
other  cordially." 


40  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

"  Uncle  !  »  I  cried. 

little/'  '°'^'"'"  ^'  *""'"'^'    "  ''*'°"  '*°'*  ^^'^  ^'-^ 

"  I  J™ow  naught."  I  aiud.  in  aelMeprecation.  "not 
even  where  we  are  now  going." 

"  'T^  ^"*J«  Gimigoe."  he  anawered  proudly.  "  where 
thou  wUt  learn  all  things,  my  mountain  brother ;  where 
we  will  make  a  great  man  of  thee,  where  thou  wilt  learn 
to  love  my  haughty  mother,  to  honour  my  lordly  father  " 
and.  he  continued  in  a  lower  tone.  "  to  hate  yon  surly 
but^^schemangly  clever  and  useful  priest,  our  bastarj 

That  wo,^-bastard~again  smote  on  me ;  but  some- 
thing forbade  my  asking  its  meaning,  and  had  I  done  so 
I  fear  it  would  have  made  but  little  difference  in  what 
happened  afterward. 


i 
I 


CHAPTER  V 

"  It  VM  •  nuMUTs  bfttUement 
Of  olden  ohiTsLry ; 
E*ch  aide  ito  mighty  towerings  kent 

Wide  mountMn  and  lone  ae»  • 
No  mu  into  ita  Urrien  went, ' 
But  wilful  bowed  the  knee." 

Ballad  of  Dtad  Ortalnett. 

A  FTER  winding  slowly  for  some  time  down  the 
sides  of  the  strath  or  glen,  it  gradually  grew  wider 
and  the  dechvities  more  gentle.    At  this  I  was  somewhat 
thankful,  for  this  riding  of  a  brute  beast,  though  pleasant 
to  look  at  in  others,  was  to  me  a  new  and  rather  rough 
ex^nence     I  found  it  difficult  to  keep  my  seat  and 
hold  myself  erect  in  that  dignity  which  became   the 
others,  and  at  the  same  time  to  pay  attention  to  the 
light  words  of  my  gallant,  new-found  brother.    But  as 
our  gnm  uncle  the  priest  now  rode  up  abreast  of  us 
he  also  grew  silent,  for  which  I  was  glad,  because,  as  we' 
proceeded.  I  began  to  have  uneasy  thoughts  within 
myself  as  to  the  outcome  of  aU  this  matter.    I  was  with- 
out doubt,  by  my  solitary  life  rendered  old  beyond  my 
years,  yet  for  all  this  I  had  conceived  a  childish  pleasure 
w  the  excitement  of  this  new  experience,  which  now 


42 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


¥'■ 


sober   down   into   the   cold    maturity   of 


began    to 
anxiety. 

After  a  Uttle,  when  we  had  wended  the  level  banks 
of  the  stream  that  led  to  the  sea,  we  reached  the  shore, 
where  a  deep  bay  ran  in.    Keeping  to  the  westward, 
we  struck  what  I  saw  to  be  a  weU-beaten  roadway  along 
the  sands,  which  at  high  water  was  close  to  the  ocean, 
the  waves  sometimes  covering  the  tracks,  but  which, 
as  now,  at  the  tide's  neap,  did  spread  in  a  great  damp,' 
fresh-smeUing  belt  of  sand  and  stranded  kelp  betwixt  us 
and  the  bitter,  curling  foam  of  the  but  newly  returning 
tide.    Riding  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour  along  this 
deep  shoreway,  where  we  saw  but  few  signs  of  humanity, 
and  those  few  giving  a  wide  road  to  our  cavalcade  of 
mounted  pennons,  we  at  last  rounded  a  rugged  point, 
and  there  burst  on  my  view  for  the  first  time  what  I  wai 
told  was  the  ancient  home  of  my  fathers. 

I  have  already  written  that  ours  was  an  ancient 
house  of  one-time  princely  greatness,  which  had  never, 
as  I  have  learned  since  (and  I  now  write  with  a  close' 
knowledge  of  such  matters),  descended  to  a  less  level 
than  royal  or  noble  alliance,  and  Girnigoe  Castle,  as 
was  Its  ancient  designation,  the  chief  seat  of  our  family 
was  weU  fitted  to  be  the  chief  dwelling  of  so  proud  and 
headstrong  a  race,  unyielding  to  king  or  noble. 

All  this  I  knew  not  at  the  time,  and  of  my  connection 
with  it  had  but  a  slight  imagination,  but  my  feelings 
at  the  first  sight  of  this  massive  and  ominous  pile  were 
such  as  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  in  the  ordinary 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  43 

language  of  a  poor  clerk  such  as  I  am.    The  learned 
Boetius  might  find  words  worthy  of  a  description  of  its 
proud  position  and  splendid  front.    There  came  over 
me  a  strange  feeling  of  fear,  and  a  quick  reaUsation  of 
the  foohsh  danng  of  ray  speech  but  a  short  time  before 
in  claiming  to  represent  that  greatness  which  in  one 
of  Its  splendours  now  so  closely  oppressed  me.    The 
castle  or  fortress,  for  it  was,  as  I  learned  afterward,  in 
truth  both,  stood  on  a  wild  headland  that  ran  boldly 
and  ruggedly  to  meet  the  angry  northern  ocean  which 
beat  in  impotent  wrath  at  the  foot  of  its  beetling 
majestic  front. 

On  a  plateau  of  this  austere  headland  rose  the  proud 
walls  and  bastioned  towers  of  this,  the  mightiest  castle 
of  the  north.    It  was  a  massive -battlement,  almost 
square  and  of  great  strength,  with  walls  auj  turrets  of 
such  a  height  that,  as  I  proved  afterward,  it  made  the 
head  di^zy  to  gaze  to  the  depths  of  moat  and  sea-floor 
from  the  barbican  above.    That  such  a  hold  in  so  remote 
and  wild  a  part  of  the  country  should  be  built  in  so 
massive  a  form  to  resist  all  attacks,  wiU  not  be  wondered 
at  when  it  hath  been  seen  that  famiUes  like  our  own 
proud  and  self-supporting,  were  constantly  at  trouble 
with  each  other,  and  even  with  our  sovereign  the  King  • 
so  that  where  people  lived  in  constant  danger  of  assault 
It  behoved  them  to  place  stone  walls  betwixt  them 
and  their  enemies.    When  I  write,  this  old   keep  of 
Oimigoe  IS  of  long  and  ancient  founding,  having  served 
my  lordly  ancestors  when  they  were  princes  of  the 


44 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


iJi 


\i 


m 


xmghtj  kingdom  of  the  Norraways.  ere  my  famed 
ancestor,  the  fierce  Sweyn,  had  infested  these  coasts 
and  carried  fire  and  sword  even  to  the  inhospitable 
shores  of  the  wild  Erse  people  of  the  far  west.  And  it 
yet  standeth  old  .>nd  grey  like  the  sea  and  rocks,  its 
more  aged  parents,  worn  like  them  and  grim  with  the 
markings  and  bufferings  of  Time,  the  one  true  ancient 
of  this  grizzled  universe. 

My  heart  rose  more  and  more  into  my  throat,  and  my 
courage  sank  in  comparison,  as  we  slowly  approached 
Its  walls.    After  leaving  the  main  roadway,  we  climbed 
a  steep  ascent  leading  by  devious  ways  to  the  top  of 
the  pkteau ;   and  as  we  did  so  the  leading  horseman, 
Patnck,  who  had  been  muttering  in  bad  mood  to  the 
pnest,  hurried  on  with  two  of  our  attendants,  whether 
to  prepare  for  our  approach,  or  to  elude  being  implicated 
in  my  matter,  I  know  not.    The  rest  of  the  party  rode 
behind  m  sombre  silence.    The  priest  now  rode  grimly 
by  my  side,  where  on  the  other  was  the  young  lord. 
Soon  there  arose  on  our  ears  the  measured  and  sweet 
sound  of  a  beU;  then,  foUowing  on  it,  the  louder  and 
more  deeply  ominous  tones  of  a  harsher  beU,  which 
came  from  the  castle  courtyard. 

Scarcely  had  it  ended  when  Patrick  came  hurrying 
down  to  meet  us.  "Lord  Hugh."  he  said,  "your 
noble  father  hath  returned  and  hath  brought  captive 
a  wild  caitiff  of  the  Macleods  whom  they  are  about  to 
hang  immediate,  and  your  lady  mother  hath  called  the 
devout  to  sudden  prayer  for  his  heathen  soul ;  so  you 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  45 

wUl  please  you  to  make  haste,  as  the  caitiff  is  to  have 
but  short  despatch."    This  put  a  quicker  blood  into 
our  horsemen,  who,  like  vultures  which  scent  the  feast, 
hastened  to  the  scene.    To  me  it  came  as  but  a  grue- 
some welcome  to  that  world  of  the  great  and  active, 
for  which  my  heart  had  sometimes  hungered.    My 
brother  Hugh  rode  unconcerned,  as  high-born  youth 
used  to  scenes  of  such  recriminc  ion  and  justice  ever 
do.    The  priest  pressed  somewhat  closer  to  my  steed, 
and  eyed   my   countenance   with   his  iron  smile,  as 
if   reading    my   misgiving    and    lack    of    spirit    on 
mine  entrance  to  the  power  and  custom  of  Castle 
Gimigoe. 

"'Tis  but  a  sorry  home-coming  for  thee.  Master 
Ian,"  he  commented.    "  But  it  will  be  as  well  to  know 
thy  father  as  he  reaUy  is.    The  meeting  is  like  to  be 
a  stormy  one  at  best,  but  whatever  happeneth,  fear 
not,  and  I  wiU  stand  thy  friend."    With  which  cold 
comfort  he  feU  behind,  and  aUowed  me  to  foUow  my 
brother  into  the  now  decidedly  grim  and  uninviting 
courtyard  of  the  castle.    As  we  had  approached  across 
the  plateau  the  castle  appeared  like  a  huge  grey  wall, 
its  gloomy  turrets   frowning   down  in   a   forbidding 
manner.    Around  the  side  ran  a  deep  moat  or  ditch 
flooded  with  water,  that  washed  the  foot  of  the  walls, 
and  not  to  be  crossed  save  by  a  high  drawbridge  of  heavj? 
timbers,  worked  by  some  quaint,  ancient  mechanics, 
which  were  set  in  motion  at  our  approach,  letting  the 
structure  prone  across  the  moat,  over  which  we  hurried. 


46 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


i 


I 


;(    '. 


and  were  ushered  through  a  narrow  baationed  gateway 
into  the  large  yard  of  the  castle. 

Here  even  Hugh  grew  taciturn  and  stem  in  manner, 
and  bidding  me  follow  him,  we  being  deserted  by 
Father  Angus,  who  alighted  and  strode  to  his  ghostly 
work  in  the  chapel,  rode  to  one  side  of  the  walled 
space,    and    without    dismounting    remained    silent, 
and,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  troubled,  spectators 
of  the  occurrence  about  to  take  place.    Around  the 
courtyard  were  Uned  the  serving-men  and  armed  re- 
tainers, grim  and   suUen,  but  careless  for  the  most 
part  concerning  what  to  me  was  an  awful  deed.    On 
the  opposite  side  from  where  we  stood,  was  stationed, 
chained  to  a  Unk  in  the  wall,  a  savage-looking  man  of 
great  proportions  and  singularly  bold  and  wild  aspect, 
who  eyed  the  throng  about  him  with  a  sort  of  high 
contempt,  as  if  their  attitude  and  action  mattered  but 
little  to  him.    Near  him  on  each  side  stood  a  keeper 
or  guard  in  partial  mail,  and  armed  with  blade  and 
spear.    Above  his  head  there  dangled  from  a  beam 
a  strong  loose  cord  of  some  tough  fibre,  showing  the 
manner  in  which  he  was  to  be  ended. 

The  sight  of  aU  this,  with  the  anticipation  of  the 
terrible  tragedy  about  to  take  place,  crowding  as  it 
were  upon  me  so  soon  after  my  peaceful,  protected 
manner  of  Ufe,  turned  me  of  a  sudden  sick,  as  though 
the  world  went  round  for  a  moment.  Then  recovering 
myself,  I  determined  to  abide  the  issue.  Silent  we 
stood  there  in  the  sunny  day,  prisoner  and  guards, 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  47 

and  we,  spectators  of  it  all,  while  outside  the  sea 
glistened  and  the  sky  shimmered  as  if  all  was  glad 
and  sweet  in  the  world.  Then  out  of  an  archway  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  courtyard  there  issued  a  tall  man 
clothed  completely  in  armour  and  followed  by  several 
retainers,  ffis  ruddy  fair  hair,  high  flushed  face,  and 
proud  step  proved  him  to  be  the  man  who  held  that 
little  community  of  souls  in  the  grip  of  his  steel  glove, 
Ian  of  the  Orcades,  and  yet  the  man  whom  I  was  told 
was  no  less  than  my  father.  I  knew  him  at  once  by 
his  Ukeness  to  Hugh,  though  there  was  in  eye  and 
mouth  a  cruel  expression  which  boded  ill  for  the  wild 
prisoner,  and  for  me  when  my  turn  should  come.  He 
strode  down  and  faced  the  prisoner  with  a  grim  look, 
while  you  could  have  heard  a  cricket  chirp,  so  quiet 
was  the  hush  for  a  space. 

"Malcohn  Mac-Ian,"  he  sai(^  in  taunting  tones, 
"  thou  art  my  guest  at  last.  What  .ospitaUty  wouldst 
thou  crave  at  my  hands  ?  " 

None,"  cried  the  wild  man,  in  a  stem  defiance. 
"  Let  the  dog  of  the  Orcades  but  giff  Malcolm  her  own 
freedom  and  her  plade  and  stand  her  front  for  one 
stroke,  and  she  herself  will  thank  him." 

"Nay!  robbing,  murdering  dog,"  cried  the  earl, 
II  thou  Shalt  dance  there,"  and  he  pointed  at  the  rope  ; 
"  dost  thou  not  choose  thine  own  death !  " 

"  Let  her  pe  shoot  like  the  deer  of  her  own  glen," 
cried  the  wild  man,  dropping  his  head  on  his  breast ; 
"  her  will  not  complain." 


48 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  Tie  him  up !  "  cried  the  earl,  and  in  a  trice  he  was 
braced  to  the  wall ;  while  my  legs  shook  against  my 
beast's  sides  in  horror. 

"  Bowmen,  to  the  wall !  "  he  commanded.  And  as 
soon  as  one  could  speak,  six  archers  were  ranged  near 
us,  opoosite  to  where  the  grim  prisoner  sternly  but 
bravely  confronted  us. 

"  Pick  me  his  right  eye !  A  silver  bit  to  the  best 
shot !  "  cried  the  earl ;  and  ere  I  could  hide  my  sight 
the  wild  prisoner  was  quivering  with  arrows.  "Let 
him  die  now,"  cried  the  eari ;  and,  brave  to  the  last, 
but  cursing  us  all  in  some  wild,  and  to  me  unknown, 
tongue,  the  fierce  prisoner  died. 

I  knew  now  that  all  depended  on  mine  own  courage 
how  I  should  fare  later  with  this  fierce  man,  whom  I 
claimed  as  father ;  but  for  my  life  I  could  not  prevent 
that  for  a  moment  a  mist  came  before  me,  and  a  rushing 
in  mine  ears  at  sight  of  that  dread  scene  ;  at  which 
Hugh,  noting  my  horror,  said — 

"  Courage,  brother,  fear  not ;  he  loveth  a  brave  man 
but  hateth  a  craven,  which  thou  art  not.  Speak  him 
bold.  Whatever  he  says  his  bark  were  worse  than 
his  bite."  But  this  was  Uttle  comfort,  for  the  world 
about  me  had  scarce  grown  steady  again  when  Hugh 
said  quickly,  "Dismount!"  and,  like  one  in  a  bad 
dream,  I  got  me  off  my  horse,  and  saw  a  terribly  cruel 
face  before  me  and  heard  a  stem  and  harsh  voice  say— 

"  How  now,  sirrah,  who  art  thou  ?  " 
.  I  choked  for  a  moment,  then,  remembering  Hugh's 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


49 


of    the 


warning,    said    boldly,    "Ian,    son    of    Ian 
Orcadea." 

When  I  uttered  these  words  I   thought  he  would 
have  kUled  me  where  I  stood.    He  was  too  enraged 
to  speak.    He  raised  his  gloved  hand,  and  I  counted 
the  heart-beats  which  I  had  left  for  life,  but  I  knew 
he  was  my  father  who  had  given  me  Ufe,  a  Ufe  so  terrible 
and  hideous  that  I  cared  little  to  keep  it ;   so  I  turned 
my  lad's  face  -white  it  must  have  been,  but  resolute  and 
desperate-up  to  his.  and  met  him  face  to  face,  waiting 
for  the  blow  to  faU  which  I  knew  would  be  my  death 
Even  Hugh  could  do  nothing ;  and  I  remember  to  this 
hour  the  sight  of  those  stern  men  in  that  courtyard  that 
gnsly  dead  man  filled  with  bleeding  arrows,  and  that 
terrible  cruel  face  and  gloved  hand  upraised  in  the  sun- 
hght.    If  I  had  died  then  it  would  have  Uved  witb  me 
through  all  eternity.    It  seemed  as  if  the  evilest  curse 
o    the  dead  man  had  but  too  soon  come  upon  us. 
Steadily  I  faced  him  while  the  heavens  seemed  to  rain 
hot  iron  in  my  brain ;  then  he  seemed  to  read  somewhat 
m  my  face,  for  a  softer  tone  came  into  his  voice,  and  the 
hand  went  slowly  to  his  side  as  he  said,  "  Thou  mad 
boy,  who  hath  taught  thee  all  this  ?  »    Then  I  found 
a  voice  which  seemed  afar  off,  and  said,  "  Thou  art  my 
father,  art.  thou  not  ?  »    But  he  looked  moodily  on 

Who  hath  taught  thee  all  this  ?  " 
''  My  uncle  Angus,  the  priest,"  I  answered  shortly 
Ha!   that  damned  priest!   that  bastard  brother 


-•5  ! 


1 1  i 


■  I 


50 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


Where  lurketh  he  ?  " 


o'  mine.    I  know  he  hateth  me. 
he  cried  to  the  others. 

"The  Father  Angus  sayeth  prayer  for  the  dead 
somI,"  answered  one  of  the  retainers. 

"  Yea,  he  hath  a  sweet  voice  but  a  black  heart,"  cried 
the  eari,  "and  even  at  the  blessed  table  doth  he  chew 
the  wrong  my  father  did  him  and  resolve  hates  for  me 
and  mine.    Command  him  here  on  the  instant !  '* 

"  Sir  earl,  he  sayeth  prayers ;  we  dare  not,"  answered 
the  man. 

"Hail  him  here,  mitre  and  cowl— I  care  not— that 
the  base  hound  may  feel  mine  anger.    Hear  me,  sirrah  !  " 

"  But  the  lady  countess,  my  lord  eari,  I  dare  not 
disturb  her,"  said  the  man  in  a  whining  voice. 
^^  "  Ha !  my  lady !  yea,"  and  the  earl  looked  at  me. 
"  Yea,  he  can  wait.  We  will  not  violate  her  prayers." 
Then  he  seemed  to  think  a  moment.  "  Boy,"  he  said 
shortly,  "  this  meddling  priest  did  but  a  bad  business 
to  open  this  matter  to  thee." 

But  I  answered,  "  It  was  not  only  the  priest,  but  my 
mother  also." 

"Thy  mother,  lad?"  he  cried.  "What  of  thy 
mother  ?  " 

"  She  was  the  best  soul  I  have  known  or  ever  will  know 
in  this  world,"  I  answered  in  anger  and  sorrow. 

"  What !  Was?  Did  you  say  was,  lad  ? "  and  he 
clutched  me  fiercely  by  the  arm. 

"  She  is  dead,  my  lord  eari,"  I  said,  drawing  back 
coldly. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  51 

"  Dead !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  and  they  told  me  not." 
"  Father  Angus  shrived  her,"  I  said,  "  though  she 
needed  it  not." 

"  That  damned  priest  again,"  he  cried.  "  He  hath 
more  than  I,  and  I  have  much,  to  answer  for." 

"She  prayed  for  you  in  her  last  hour,"  I  said, 
half  angered  at  my  mother's  wrong,  though  I  did  not 
know  its  full  ill  then,  and  partly  in  sorrow  that  this 
fierce,  evil  man  were  so  moved  at  her  name. 

"  Speak  no  more  of  her,  boy.  I  may  not  stand  it ! 
My  life  hath  been  one  long  hell,  but  the  worst  I  did 
'twas  my  bastard  brother  Angus  led  me.  I  see  it  now, 
but  I  must  dree  my  weird.  Get  thee  gone,"  he  cried 
fiercely,  "  let  me  not  see  thy  face.  He  did  thee  an  evil 
turn  who  sent  thee  here.  I  am  thy  worst  foe— the  one 
thou  shouldst  shun  most  in  all  the  world." 
^^  "  But  thou  art  my  father  !  "  I  cried  in  strange  agony  ; 
"  whatever  hath  happened  I  am  thy  son." 

"  Nay,  nay !"  he  cried.  "Thou  must  not  say  it.  This 
was  no  slight  sin.  Believe  me,  boy,  thou  must  go  back 
whence  thou  camest,  or  anywhere  out  into  the  world. 
I  wiU  make  thee  rich  and  great ;  but  stay  not  here.  Open 
the  gate  and  let  him  out,  give  him  attendance,  yea 
moneys ;  but  see  that  he  be  gone." 
^^  At  this  Hugh  stepped  forward.  "  Father,"  he  cried, 
"  Ian  must  stay  !    He  is  my  brother.'* 

"Thy  brother!  Thou  knowest  not  of  what  thou 
speakest.  There  is  that  betwixt  ye  two  that  may  not 
be  spoken  !    Nay,  madden  me  not,  let  him  go." 


5a 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


!    t- 


"  But  I  say  not ! "  cried  the  sweet,  silvery,  clear  voice 
of  a  woman ;  and  when  I  heard  it  I  knew  that  it  was  the 
voice  of  one  bom  to  command,  and  I  turned  and  saw 
me  a  new  sight  which  in  the  dread  agony  and  emotion 
of  the  last  few  momenta  I  and  the  others  had  overlooked. 
Prom  the  door  of  the  chapel,  at  a  remote  corner  of  the 
great  grim  courtyard,  there  had  issued  forth  a  group  of 
sombrely  attired  women ;  and  at  their  head,  accom- 
pamed  by  my  sinister  uncle  the  priest,  walked  a  tall 
noble-looking  lady  of  about  middle  life.    Her  figure' 
was  one  at  once  commanding  and  stately ;  and  her  face 
both  beautiful  and  haughty,  but  wearing  a  cold  austerity 
of  manner  that  suggested  rather  the  convent  than  the 
castle  or  court.    She  had  in  her  hands  the  lower  part  of 
a  great  string  of  prayer-beads  which  hung  about  her 
neck,  and  which  she  had  been  telling  as  she  walked 
They  were  somewhat  similar  to  those  which  my  mother 
had  ever  kept  about  her,  which  she  gave  me  on  her 
deathbed,  and  which  I  had  next  my  heart  as  I  stood 
there.    I  saw  in  her  gaze  at  me  and  at  my  lord  the  earl 
coupled  with  the  look  of  self-sufficiency  on  my  priestly 
uncle's  face,  why  it  was  that  he  had  dared  to  bring  me 
here  in  defiance  of  the  terrible  eari.    It  was  not  hard 
to  see  that  if  my  lord  were  fierce  and  headstrong,  it  was 
a  stronger  will  than  his  that  ruled  at  Castle  GimigM. 

As  I  took  this  aU  in,  the  penetrating  voice  rose  again 
hke  the  sUver  tones  of  a  pure  molten  beU,  "  Who  is  this 
lad,  my  lord  earl  ?  " 

"Madam,"  he  answered,  "let  me  beg  you  keep  to 


TAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  53 

jour  prayers,  and  leave  the  more  worldly  matters  to  thy 
lord's  keeping," 

"  My  lord,"  she  answered,  speaking  in  tones  of  scorn, 
"my  lord,  thou  art  not  so  hospitable  "—and  she 
denoted  with  horror  the  dead  man  still  on  the  wall— 
"that  thou  shouldst  be  left  to  deal  with  strangers 
within  thy  gates  !  " 
"  I  will  have  yon  removed  at  once,  madam,"  said 
t  the  earl,  "  do  thou  but  go  to  thine  apartments." 

j  But  she  turned  to  me.     "Boy,"  she  commanded, 

I  "  speak  !    Who  art  thou  ?  " 

But  what  with  her  commanding  eyes  and  the  earl's 
terrible  scowl  and  the  priest's  grim  smile,  I  could  find 
no  voice. 

"  Madam,"  I  stammered,  and  could  get  no  further ; 
but  here  my  churchly  uncle  for  his  own  reasons  came 
to  my  relief. 

"  My  noble  sister,"  he  said,  eyeing  the  earl  and  me 
in  turn,  and  speaking  in  his  blandest  tones,  "seeing 
that  my  lordly  brother  is  modest  toward  you  in  this 
matter,  wilt  thou  gaze  at  the  youth,  at  the  young  Lord 
Hugh,  and  at  thy  husband,  and  read  the  riddle  ?  " 
"  Nay,  nay !  it  cannot  be ! "  she  exclaimed  in  horror. 
"Yea,  in  truth,"  answered  the  priest,  "he  is  thy 
stepson  Ian,  thy  husband's  son  and  bastard  child." 

In  a  moment,  as  a  thunder-cloud  lightens,  there  went 
a  fire  over  her  face,  she  looked  at  me,  and  if  hate  could 
have  slain  I  had  died  there  that  moment.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  earl,  who  stood  sullenly  at  bay. 


I 


aMmiM 


;U 


54 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


u 


I 


i*. 


*'  And  you  I  you  dared  wrong  me  thua  f  " 
"  Nay,  madam,"  answered  the  earl,  "  the  wrong, 
•nd  great  it  was,  was  against  another ;  and  as  for 
thee,  my  damned  brother,  thou  and  I  will  come  even 
yet."  But  the  priest  only  smiled,  and  it  was  easy  to 
■ee  that  his  smile  was  more  deadly  than  the  other's 
hate  Then  the  earl  turned  to  me  in  a  sort  of  bUnd 
wrath. 

••  Get  thee  gone,  boy,  ere  I  slay  thee  f "  he  cried 
"Canst  thou  not  see  that  this  is  no  place  for  such  as 
thee?    Get  thee  gone!    Thou  hast  done  enough  !  " 

"Nay,"  cried  the  lady,  "but  he  shall  stay.  He  is 
thy  son,  and  by  my  duty  to  the  Church  he  shall  stay 
here  that  thou  mayst  see  in  him  thy  sin's  remembrance 
daily  m  thy  sight  tiU  thou  hast  repented  !  " 

"  Here,  my  lady  ?    Thou  wilt  keep  him  here  ?  " 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  she  answered.    "  Is  it  not  thy  duty 
to  thy  conscience  and  to  an  angered  Heaven  ?    Yea 
he  shall  stay."  ' 

Yet  I  saw  that  her  liking  grew  even  worse  toward 
me;  but  her  sense  of  duty  to  the  teachings  of  her 
conscience  and  desire  for  the  earl's  punishment  w.^re 
equaUy  strong  with  her  intense  hate  of  me. 

"Come  here,  my  son  Hugh!"  she  cried,  and  as 
Hugh  went  to  her  she  put  her  arm  about  him. 
^^  "Hugh,  my  son,"  she  said,  eyeing  me  scornfully, 

this  IS  a  poor  misbom  youth.  He  wiU  stay  with 
thee,  and  thou  wilt  have  him  to  aid  and  serve  thee." 
She  spoke  to  him  so  tenderly,  that  through  all  my 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


55 


J 

n 


bitterneM  she  minded  me  of  my  mother'i  ways,  and 
my  heart  went  out  for  a  little  of  that  great  love  which 
I  could  see  she  bore  for  her  son,  but  which  waa  dead 
for  her  husband. 

At  this  the  earl  could  sUnd  no  more.  "  Well,  madam 
and  sir  priest,"  he  cried,  "  do  ye  keep  him.  Have  your 
will !  But,  boy,"  he  said  to  me,  "  here  is  no  happiness. 
Gimigoe  Castle  is  cursed  with  a  great  gloom  of  subtlety, 
priestcraft,  and  ill  for  all.  I  am  thy  father,  shame 
to  me  to  say  it ;  but  thou  see'st  me  such  as  I  am. 
Make  this  place  what  thou  canst,  but  shun  me  as  thou 
shouldst  the  plague  or  yon  damned  priest  brother  o' 
mine."  And  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  was  gone  ere 
I  could  say  a  word,  could  I  have  thought  of  anything 
to  say ;  for  I  was  dazed  with  dire  dismay  and  sorrow. 
And  for  some  evil  reason  of  his  own  I  saw  that  the  crafty 
priest  had  slunk  away  too. 

"  Hugh,  my  eon,"  cried  the  lady,  "  I  would  speak 
with  the  lad  alone."  She  would  not  speak  of  me  as 
his  brother;  indeed,  she  could  never  bring  herself 
to  look  on  me  in  that  relationship.  "Go,  my  son," 
she  said,  and  kissing  him  on  the  brow  she  dismissed 
him.  When  he  was  gone  she  turned  to  me,  and  the 
love  was  all  gone  out  of  her  face,  and  in  its  place  was 
that  fierce  slaying  pride. 

"  Sirrah !  "  she  said,  "  tell  me  ,uick,  who  was  thy 
mother?"  I  marvelled  then  that  she  should  wait 
to  ask  me  this  when  we  were  alone.  When,  afterwards, 
I  came  to  understand  how  one  woman  will  hate  another 


i 


56  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

k«  pr.de  led  her  to  Mk  me  thi,  i„  private.  ^ 

me'fl?^,;"""'  ""^  '    ™^  "■°*"  '  ••  ""  O-'tio""! 
"Yea.  lady."  I   cried,  "my  mother   w..   „„e   of 

SlTl  '"?  •""""'  """  *"  "'^"-    Si.  favoured 
thee,  though  not  so  taU,  and  she  waa  fair " 

"  I  know  not,"  I  anawered  in  «,rrow,  "  bit  that  .he 
-»  good  and  gentle,  and  theae  were  her  preyer..trin  ' 
which  .he  gave  me  at  her  death.    There  be  «,mewlS 
graven  on  them.    Canrt  thon  make  it  ont  ?  ,."""""' 

And  I  handed  her  the  bead.,  which  rf,e,  toWng  in  her 
finger.  «w  their  value  «,d  re«l  thereon  what  M  Z 
difficult  for  my  poorelerkahip.  Then  .he  cried,  "  Dre^ 
Heaven -th..  thy  mother?    Then    thou    ak— !" 

m,.n,  „  ,f  forgettmg  me,  .he  cried,  "My  «,n,  my  «,« ! " 

I  partly  knew  what  .he  felt ;  and  I  cried  out,  "  Mad«n 
I^megofremthiaphc.    I  «n  but  a  poo   lon^.' 
but  I  cannot  atay  to  bring  mi«,y  to  the.  „d  thinaT^ ' 
Nay,"  A.  cried.    "  I  have  given  my  word  •   «,d 

«een  thy  face,  yet  it  were  ill  that  I.  the  ffr«Rt.^«^ 
.Uughter  o;  the  King  of  Scotland,  .k^^d^iX 


I 


i 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  57 

word  for  that;  and  also  for  fear  that  worse  trouble 
.^me  .f  thou  g^st ;  thou  shalt  stay  here  and  be  my 
ords  penance  for  his  great  wrong.    And  thou,  boy 

thou  lean,  to  serve  my  son.  but  speak  no  word  of  thy 

Trilf  K.r°'°'^"°"P*"*'*^°^"^3^-^'^th-    The 
pnest  shaU  see  to  thy  learning,  and  chance,  if  thou 

favourest  that  vocatioi:.  the  Church  may  be  thy  calling  • " 

and     .th  a  haughty  look  and  a  dread  one.  as  if  sLe 

Z.  7   ^Tu       °'°'*  «^'^°"«  ^««^  °^  h«  We,  she 
turned  and  left  me. 

The  sun  w-as  now  well  lowered  and  just  withdrawing 
h«  dechmnglight.  and  I  wasalone  in  the  grim courty^" 
mme  only  compamon  the  fierce,  dead  glensman.    And 

of  n^W  7  ^TT"^""^  *°  ^'^'^  ^^«^'  *^e  house 
of  my  fathers!    ITiough  much  matured  by  sorrow   I 

was  yet  but  a  lad.  and  a  great  sense  of  desolation  weld 
before  sobbed  on  my  mother's  grave. 


e 


if 


iMi 


CHAPTER  VI 

mHE  Ufe  that  now  opened  up  to  me  at  Caatle  Girni«oe 
waa  m  sooth  a  strange  one.  and  yet  one  quitTin 
keeping  with  mine  obscure  upbringing.  I  had  a  chamber 
allotted  to  me  next  to  that  of  mine  uncle  Angus"  in  a 
remote  part  of  the  castle,  where  he,  for  the  mlt  part 
spent  his  hours  when  not  singing  the  blessed  Mass  or 
absent,  as  was  rumoured,  in  visitation  at  a  neighbouring 
castellated  abbey,  the  residence  of  the  bishop  of  ou^ 
part  of  the  north.    This  abbey  and  bishop  I  shall  refer 

in  TvT'  "".      '^  "'''  '"^'"^^  ^  ^^'y  » ^''^-i  part 
m  my  hfe's  drama.    My  uncle's  retreat  was  callTd  the 

rfd-tower  room,  and  was  in  many  respecte  the  most 

remarkable  apartment  in  the  castle.    It  was  said  to  be 

haunted,  and  by  the  spirit  of  a  wizard  ancestor  of  the 

family   who  was  believed   to   have  constructed  this 

particular  tower  by  a  secret  art  which  he  had  gotten 

from  a  famiJiar  devil,  whom  he  had  brought  into  his 

n  .   !         ^"^  "^'^°-    '  ^*^«  "^<i«"*ood  that 

In  rf  I?  T  ""''  "°"^  "  ^*^"^°^y  »>«li«ved  by 
men  of  clerkly  knowledge,  yet.  for  the  most  part,  in 
our  days  men  believed  these  spirito  to  be  subservient  to 
wise  men.    Be  that  as  it  may.  few  in  the  castle  cared 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  55 

to  come  near  that  tower,  or  the  passage  that  led  to  it 
so  that  mine  uncle  had  his  privacy  much  to  himself ' 
and  «  my  room  was  of  similar  reputation,  neighbouring 
as  ,t  did  on  the  wizard  tower,  I  found  that  I  was  happy 
in  mine  early  acquired  habits  of  solitude.    I  must 
admit  that,  for  all  mine  evil  uncle's  ill  qualities,  he  had 
great  gifts  as  a  clerk,  and  knew  much  of  the  occult  lore 
wbch,  had  it  come  to  Kght,  would  have  brought  him' 
to  the  stake  as  a  wizard.    I  had  a  great  curiosity  with 
regard  to  these  studies,  and  found  much  to  interest 
me  m   pondering    over   the   ancient  writings,   weird 
mechamcs,  and  strange  furniture  of  his  lonely  apartment. 
I  have  since  thought  that  he  took  a  peculiar  pleasure 
out  of  my  superstitious  fears  and  youthful  desire  to 
explore  those  mysteries,  for  such  obscure  studies  ever 
appeal  to  the  ignorant  and  credulous.    There  is  no 
doubt  that  much  of  mine  uncle's  power  over  those  in 
the  castle,  not  even  excepting  my  lordly  father  and  his 
haughty  lady,  was  gained  by  that  reputation  which  he 
had  for  occult  science.    It  was  in  this  room  that  Hu«h 
and  I  pursued  our  studies,  though  it  was  but  seldom 
that  Hugh  could  be  got  to  cultivate  letters,  which  he 
ever  averred  to  be  aUen  to  the  needs  of  one  bom  to  rule 
whose  one  study  should  be  arms,  as  necessary  to  his 
power  and  honour;  while  that  of  letters,  as  dealing 
niore  with  craft,  was  more  fitted  for  the  clergy  and 
those  classes  who,  by  reason  of  their  inferiority,  had  to 
make  themselves  of  use  to  others  by  their  skiU  in  such 
matters. 


u 


60 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


It  thuB  came  to  pa«  that  I  soon  outefaipped  Hugh 
m  the  studies  wbch  he  abhorred,  while  he  becaire  ever 
more  expert  in  the  science  of  arms,  which  vocation 
never  came  to  me  as  easy  as  to  others,  though  I  can 
boast  some  power  and  skiU  as  a  swordsman.    The  rest 
of  the  household  I  saw  but  rarely,  save  at  meals.    These 
were  served  in  the  great  haU,  where  at  a  long  table  the 
most  of  the  castle  folk  sat,  except  those  that  served  • 
the  earl  and  the  lady  countess  at  the  top.  with  Hugh 
next.  and.  a  little  below,  mine  uncle  Angus  and  myseU. 
just  above  the  salt,  the  vessel  for  the  holding  of  which 
w  used  m  aU  great  houses  to  separate  the  blood  kin  and 
those  of  noble  birth  from  those  others  who  are  but 
vassals  and  retainers. 

On  such  occasions,  which  I  enjoyed  but  Uttle.  and 
forsook  as  soon  as  mamiers  made  possible,  the  earl 
drank  much  and  c.'ten.  and  carried  him  in  a  boisterous 
and,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  heathenish  manner,  little  in- 
fluenced  by  his  lady  who  sat  opposite,  stem  and  for- 
bidding  conversing  at  intervals  with  the  priest,  who 
gnmly  loved  to  see  the  earl  disgrace  himself.    The  lady 
countess's  mamier  on  those  occasions  was  ever  reserved 
and  haughty,  distant  and  cold  to  me  and  others.    Only 
to  Hugh  did  she  unbend,  and  likewise  to  Father  Anitus 
who  seemingly  held  a  high  place  in  her  favour  ' 

The  walls  of  this  great  dining-haU  were  hung  at 
mtervaU  with  some  old  pictured  hangings  of  tapestry 
from  the  looms  and  fair  hands  of  the  ladies  of  some 
far  continental  country.    Betwixt  these  hung  rurted 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  6r 

and  grim  suits,  or  half-suits,  of  maUed  amour,  more 
cumbrous  aiid  unwieldy  than  those  used  in  our  day 
At  the  head  of  the  hail,  where  the  earl's  state  chair  stood' 
over  a  great  fireplace  was  carven  in  some  rude  but 
quamt  hand  in  the  stone  Untel  the  name  of  that  famed 
ancestor  of  our  house  who  had  buUt  this  sea-ward 
hold ;  and  over  it  were  the  ancient  arms  of  our  house 
the  galley  or  lymphad  of  the  princes  of  the  Orcades       ' 
There  was  much  to  appeal  to  my  growing  fancy  in 
aU  the  ancient  lore  and  tradition  of  this  place,  and 
eepeciaUy  as.  from  what  I  had  formerly  heard,  coupled 
with  my  expenence  since  my  arrival,  I  had  got  a  suspicion 
that  m  some  mamier  I  had  been  wronged,  and  that  I  was 
mdeed  the  rightful  heir  of  aU  this  vast  possession.    How- 
ever, as  matters  now  stood.  I  saw  that  whatever  might 
have  been  in  the  past  was  now  impossible,  and  that 
my  hfe  here  would  have  to  be  one  of  retainership,  if  not 
of  servitude,  and  that  my  place  in  the  household  was 
one  of  a  very  equivocal  nature.    From  the  first  I 
notaced  that  the  servants  and  retainers  avoided  me 
and  gave  me  no  looks  of  reverence  such  as  they  gave 
my  brother :  and  on  the  part  of  aU.  as  days  went  by  I 
was  become  as  one  who  moves  amid  shadows  so  far  iu 
the  real  life  of  the  place  was  concerned.    Indeed  save 
for  Hugh's  boyish  fancy  for  me,  and  his  passing  need  of 
compamonship,  I  was  like  to  be  left  to  myself. 

On  state  occasions  I  wuj  conveniently  left  out  and 
on  other  times  was  just  above  the  salt,  and  no  more 
This  aU  tended  to  throw  me  more  and  more  into  the 


i] 


[i 

i   <! 

u 


62  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

company  of  mine  undo  Angus,  and  whether  there  was 
at  botU)m  some  germ  of  good  in  the  man,  which  I  could 
never  come  to  persuade  myself,  or  that.  Uke  all  souls 
ambitious  and  subtle,  he  longed  for  some  spirit  kindred 
to  his  own  on  which  to  make  experiment,  I  do  not 
know ;  but  certainly  he  took  great  pains  to  enlighten 
me  in  all  those  sciences  which  only  the  learned  indulge 
themselves  in.  It  seemed  that  the  more  I  was  ignored 
in  the  castle  the  more  did  he  in  his  own  private  place 
treat  me  as  worthy  of  notice  and  some  deference 

My  father  the  eari,  I  soon  found,  was  often  absent, 
and  those  absences  for  the  most  part,  when  not  at  Court 
(where  he  went  but  seldom,  and  not  for  his  good  reputa- 
tion  there),  on  wild  forays  against  his  neighbours  and 
feUow-nobles  of  more  distant  shires,  for  he  was  a  man 
turbulent  and   quarreUome   to   a   degree.    When   at 
home,  at  meals,  where  I  alone  saw  him,  save  when  I  was 
caUed  to  attend  him  to  some  riding  or  training  in  which 
all  took  part,  he  was  for  ever  denouncing  someone  over 
his  flagon.    His  leading  hate,  however,  was  toward  the 
Church,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  presence  of  the 
pnest  with  his  sinister  face  aggravated  this  feeUng 
and  made  him  aU  the  worse.    His  most  hated  foe,  I  soon 
fomid,  was  our  ecclesiastical  neighbour,  the  Lord  Bishop 
of  the  Cattynes,  a  man  of  great  power,  spiritual  as  well 
as  temporal,  and,  as  I  afterwards  discovered,  a  secret 
friend  of  mine  uncle,  who.  as  the  event  proved,  used 
both  the  bishop  and  the  eari  against  each  other  to 
their  mutual  undoing.    For  it  was  the  hate  of  my 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


63 


father  the  earl  towards  the  proud  bishop,  and  the 
pnvate  intrigues  of  the  latter,  which  brought  about 
the  temble  tragedy  in  which  I  took  an  unwilUng  part 
This  bishop,  or  ecclesiastical  lord-for  he  was  in  reality 
such-was.  as  I  learned  later,  the  natural  son  of  some 
great  earl  to  the  south,  and  who,  going  into  the  French 
countries  and  getting  favour  of  the  Pope,  had  conferred 
upon  him  powers  spiritual  over  a  great  part  of  this 
region  under  our  King.    I  have  since  thought  that  he 
was  sent  partly  to  be  a  watch  over,  and  check  upon,  our 
house,  which,  being  of  such  princely  extraction  and 
great  worldly  power,  gave  no  little  alarm  even  at  Court 
This  naturally  incensed  so  headstrong  and  arbitrary  a 
man  as  my  father,  who,  having  no  guile,  and  but  his 
fierce  nature,  resented  what  he  saw  to  be  a  rival  in  his 
own  country  whom  he  could  not  reach.    The  bishop 
being  also  a  man  of  address  and  parts,  so  insinuated 
himself  at  Court  that  my  father,  seeing  that  he  had  but 
httle  chance  of  redress  there,  absented  himself  more 
and  more,  a  thing  bad  for  a  nobleman  at  any  time,  but 
especially  so  for  my  father's  reputation,  which  was  at 
best  never  too  good. 

Of  this  bishop  as  the  years  went  on  I  gradually  came 
to  know  by  the  varied  accounts  current  in  our  com- 
mumty,  which  were  but  Uttle  in  his  favour.  My  father 
when  in  his  cups  would  curse  him  in  round  terms  and 
give  him  aU  the  sins  in  the  calendar  to  his  record.'such 
sms  as  should  be  fastened  on  no  man,  much  less  a  priest 
or  bishop  of  the  Church.    The  lady  countess  on  these 


64 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I'.  ■ 


h 


occasions  would  look  black  and  mutter  prayers  over 
her  bead-stiings,  crossing  herself  at  each  especial 
blasphemy  against  the  lordly  ecclesiastic.  Jline  uncle 
would  smile  into  his  flagon  and  say  nothing,  but  I  was 
well  assured  in  my  mind  that  it  all  came  to  the  good 
bishop's  ears  by  means  of  the  priest's  wizard  methods, 
and  helped  much  to  fan  the  flame  that  burst  afterward 
and  brought  misery  on  us  all.  Among  the  many  ills 
laid  at  the  door  of  this  proud  bishop,  but  which  were 
only  whispered  for  the  most  part— for  no  one  save  the 
earl  dared  speak  openly  on  the  subject—was  that  of 
being  over-zealous  in  the  harbouring  of  that  sex  which, 
since  the  first  days,  hath  been,  wilful  or  not,  a  cause  of 
strife  and  unhappiness  to  man. 

How  far  this  was  true,  I  may  not  say ;  but  that  he 
was  a  powerful  and  worldly  man  I  had  in  time  good 
cause  to  know.  One  day,  during  the  fifth  year  of  my 
coming  to  the  castle,  mine  uncle,  who  favoured  long 
walks  by  the  seashore— for  ghostly  meditations  the 
devout  said,  but  those  who  knew  him,  as  I  did,  sus- 
pected somewhat  different— offered  me  his  company, 
and,  whether  by  chance  or  by  connivance,  we  soon  saw 
a  fine  •  mpany  approaching,  more  like  a  great  lord's 
attendance  than  was  my  idea  of  the  churchly.  At  the 
head  rode  my  lord  bishop,  richly  caparisoned  as  to  man 
and  beast,  the  only  hint  of  his  ecclesiactical  position 
being  a  beautifully  chased  gold  crucifix,  which  depended 
at  his  waist  and  glittered  in  the  sun.  By  his  aide  rode 
a  genial  monk,  who  was  much  less  of  the  world  and 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


65 


more  o'  the  convent  in  habit,  but  as  plain  and  rubicund 
in  countenance  and  port  as  any  of  my  father's  serving- 
men.  ^ 

At  their  approach,  mine  uncle,  who  awaited  their 
coming,  bent  and  kissed  the  great  bUhop's  hand  with 
much  deference,  and,  saying  some  words  of  whose 
meaning  I  did  not  catch  the  drift-but  I  could  easily  see 
there  was  a  familiar  understanding  betwixt  thera-led 
me  forward  and  presented  me.  I  also  found  my  manners 
and  kissed  his  hand,  which  I  was  loath  to  do,  but  was 
rewarded  by  being  received  with  very  courtly  words 
by  this  man  whom  I  did  not  like,  but  who  appeared 
rather  what  I  had  heard  of  a  prince  than  a  bishop. 
Then  mine  uncle  did  a  strange  thing.  He  spake  to  me 
and  acted  toward  me  while  in  this  company  with  a 
marked  deference  and  respect,  and  I  was  surprised  to 
note  that  the  great  bishop  paid  me  more  deference 
than  was  due  to  my  years  and  equivocal  position  in  the 
world. 

"  So  this  is  he  ? "  said  his  lordsWp,  gazing  with  a 
curious  interest  into  my  puzzled  face.  "  WeU,  weU, 
'tis  an  old  house,  thine,  my  son,  and  the  good  father 
teUeth  me  that  thou  showest  that  thoughtful  studious- 
ness  and  distaste  for  this  world  worthy  of  a  son  of  the 
Church.  'Tis  an  old  house,"  he  added  musingly, 
"  and  thou  art  the  last ;  but  the  Church  hath  great 
power  and  high  office  for  such  as  thou  art,  and  for 
wrongs  to  be  redressed  she  hath  ways  and  means  such 
as  have  not  even  kings,"  and  he  looked  upon  me  as  if 
5 


66 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


ii\ 


to  read  the  influence  of  his  speech  written  in  my  f«ce. 
'*  Yea,"  he  added,  "  the  usurper  and  disowner  of  his 
children  must  be  brought  low."  And  while  I  marvelled 
at  these  words,  he  continued,  *  Keep  courage,  my  son, 
and  visit  me  sometimes.  Thine  uncle  will  fetch  thee." 
He  then  gave  me  his  hand,  and  rode  gaily  on,  with  a 
side  smile  toward  mine  uncle,  in  the  direction  of  a  great 
tower  more  like  a  baron's  hold— as  indeed  it  had  onco 
been — than  the  abbey  of  a  prince  of  Qod. 

When  the  cavalcade  had  passed  on,  mine  uncle  turned 
to  me  and  said,  "  There  goeth  thy  good  friend  and  well- 
wisher,  my  nephew.  Doat  thou  but  follow  his  desire 
for  thee,  thy  wrong  shall  be  avenged  and  thou  wilt 
become  great." 

"  As  to  that,"  I  replied,  "  my  wrongs  are  mine  own, 
and  toward  that  kind  of  greatness  I  have  no  lust."  I 
said  this  bitterly,  for  I  had  no  more  liking  for  this  man 
and  his  mock  respect  for  me,  than  I  had  for  mine  uncle's 
schemes,  which  were  but  half  patent  to  my  youthful 
knowledge. 

"  How  now  !  "  he  cried  fiercely.  "  Dost  thou  talk 
contemptuously  of  such  greatness?  Know  you  that 
my  lord  bishop  hath  strong  powers,  such  as  couW  to- 
morrow topple  thy  father,  mine  insolent  brother,  out 
of  these  crags  into  nowhere,  did  he  but  persevere. 
Eokow  that  he  hath  great  favour  at  Court,  especially 
with  the  most  puissant  Duke  of  Albany,  who  ruleth 
his  royal  brother,  and  is  king  in  all  but  outward 
seeming.    Know  you  that  such  power  as  this  is  not  to 


^^HH 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


67 


*1 


be  slighted,  nor  its  friendship  scorned,  nor  ito  anoer 
courted."  ^ 

Then  sa;:  I,  "  I  am  but  a  youth  and  thou  a  learned 
clerk,  but  it  seemeth  strange  to  me  that  thou,  my 
father's  brother,  sitting  above  his  salt,  eating  his  meat 
and  taldng  his  shelter,  shouldst  have  secret  commerce 
with  this  man,  knowing  as  thou  dost  his  power  and 
hatred  toward  our  lord  earl !  Dost  think  it  human 
brotherly  ? "  I  cried,  and  I  faced  him  there  on  the 
sands. 

At  that  his  face  went  dark  with  a  storm  only  his 
bhwk  spirit  could  assume,  and  for  once  I  made  mine 
uncle  show  his  real  heart  in  aU  its  bitterness. 

"  Boy,"  he  cried,  "  daiest  thou  preach  to  me,  to  me 
of  brotherhood  and  humanity  ?    Dost  thou  know  me  ? 
Who  am  I  to  harbour  such  fine  feelings,  and  who  art 
thou,  thou  craven  fool,  to  preach  such  doctrine  ?    I  have 
no  brother,  no  kin,  no  name,  save  what  the  Church  doth 
give  me.    Who  is  this  man  who  calleth  me  brother 
who  treateth  me  less  than  his  dogs-me  whom  he  would 
turn  on  to-morrow  did  he  not  fear  me  ?    Am  I  not  more 
fitted  to  be  his  lord  than  he  mine,  in  thought,  in  gift,  in 
power  to  rule  ?  "    And  he  drew  himself  up.    "InaU 
but  one  thing  am  I  not  his  superior?    Yet  he  hath  all 
and  I  nothing;  and  stiU  thou  wonder'st  that  I  should 
hate  him.    Yea,  so  much  do  I  hate  him,"  he  said 
"  that ^"  ' 

At  this,  words  seemed  to  fail  him,  so  great  was  his 
pMBion ;  and  the  dark  purple  veins  swelled  in  his  face 


68 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


and  neck,  and  clenching  his  uplifted  hands  in  dread 
menace  toward  Oimigoe  Castle,  and  muttering  terrible 
but  meaningless  imprecations,  mine  evil  uncle,  the  holy 
Churchman,  fell  foaming  in  a  fit  on  the  sands  at  my 
feet.    Many  terrible  things  hath  it  been  my  fate  to  see 
in  this  sad  life,  but  never  saw  I  more  terrible  sight  than 
this.    I  had  heard  dread  tales  of  him  from  the  castle 
servants,  that  he  was  one  of  those  whom  men  called 
possessed  of  an  evil  demon ;  and  his  looks  now  m  horrifietl 
my  spirit  that  I  could  but  stand  in  a  strange  maze  of 
terror,  so  much  so  that  did  not  some  elemental  sense  of 
humanity  lead  me  to  take  courage  to  loosen  his  neck- 
cloth and  throw  water  upon  him,  he  had  like  to  have 
died,  which  in  some  ways  would  have  been  for  the 
great  good  of  us  all,  though  he  lived  in  the  end  to  do  me 
a  good  turn  without  meaning  to,  as  is  often  the  way  of 
evil  men.    After  a  while,  when  the  water  had  recovered 
him,  and  whatever  ill  demon  in  him  was  dislodged,  he 
came  to  himself  and  sat  up,  now  quite  pale  and  weak-like, 
and  beckoned  me  to  his  side. 

"Did  I  fright  thee,  my  son  I"  he  said.  "I  am 
subject  to  these  turns.  Men  evilly  say  that  I  am 
possessed,  but  thou  knowest  better,  my  lad;  'twas 
but  the  heat  of  the  blood,"  and  he  opened  his  girdle, 
and,  giving  me  a  silver  cup,  prayed  me  for  God's  sake 
to  get  him  a  taste  of  water.  This  I  was  not  long  in 
doing,  for  he  looked  like  to  go  off  again,  and  all  his 
assurance  was  not  strong  enou^  to  hold  my  courage 
when  I  remembered  the  dread  look  on  his  face  when 


i 
i 

! 


IAN  OF  Ti*:   ORCADES 


69 


in  that  woeful  ticknef  I  ur  ,,i  aU  the  end  looks  on 
the  'ftoe  of  man,  th  ^  ^ror^L  *vi«  lii.i,  ♦h.  ,  upon  mine 
uncle's ;  and  if  it  ho  poiwibJ.-  uaf  p  domoi  ith,  as  men 
•ay,  inhabit  mortil  ^,ouJlH  b*.  tinus  1  ';< ,  d  fancy  one 
did  his  at  that  i.ne  \\h.n  !  bruuglit  the  water  he 
thanked  me— a  raw  tbin;,  f(,x  i -tit-  r.nd,  diking  a  phial 
from  his  breast,  shook  tioni*  .v>.at  fr-  ,  ;t  into  the  water, 
and  gulped  it  down  ns  .1  drii'< ;  greedUy  when 

athirst.    Whereat  the   blood   came   to  his   face   once 
more,  and  he  stood  up. 

"  Thou  lookest  pale,  lad,"  he  said,  with  somewlittt 
of  his  old  manner.  "  Thou  art  not  a  girl  to  go  white 
at  sight  of  a  sick  man  ? " 

"It  was  a  dread  turn  thou   hadst,"   I  answered, 
keeping  my  distance. 
"  And  thou  believest  their  lies  {  "  he  asked. 
"  I  know  not,"  I  repUed ;  "  but  had  not  a  human 
weakness  seized  me  I  tell  thee  frankly  I  had  left  thee  to 
die  where  thou  layest." 

"  But  sense  saved  thee,  and  me  by  thee,"  he  answered. 
"Boy,  thou  hast  saved  my  life.  BeUeve  not  those 
senaeless  tales,  but  rather  know  mo  to  be  thy  best 
friend  and  the  one  who  in  this  world  can  do  thee  the 
most  good  or  the  most  ill.  Hast  thou  no  ambition 
but  to  be  what  thou  art  now,  and  worse,  like  me  or 
others,  as  thou  growest  old  i  " 

"  I  know  none,"  I  cried,  "  save  to  some  day  leave 
this  place."  For  what  dreams  or  aspirations  I  held  in 
mme  own  soul  seemed  to  me  as  too  sacred  to  reveal  to 


vg 


70 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


tWs  ill  man  who  bad  such  power  over  me,  and  toward 
whom  I  felt  no  goodwill. 

"  Thou  art  content  to  be  as  thou  art  ? "  he  said 
lookiiig  darkly  at  me. 

"  I  Im-w  not  of  nor  care  for  thy  power."  I  said,  "  but 
hMt  thou  no  love  to  any  at  Gimigoe,  not  even  toward 
my  brother  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Thy  brother  Hugh  f  "  he  answered  evilly.  "  Hast 
thou  ever  thought  that  he  standeth  betwixt  thee  and 
all  this  greatness  ?  " 

"  This  may  be."  I  said,  "  or  it  may  not ;  but  he  is 
innocent  of  any  iU.  He  is  my  brother,  and  I  think 
that  m  his  way  he  hath  a  love  toward  me." 

"In  his  way,"  sneered  the  priest,  "and  in  such  a 
way !  He  u  but  his  father  in  the  kernel,  with  some- 
what of  his  arrogant  mother.  Yea,  he  Uketh  thee  but 
as  one  of  his  fandeh  until  thou  tirest  him  or  he  thinketh 
thou  Btandest  in  his  path." 

I  feared  that  to  some  extent  this  was  true,  just  enough 
to  put  a  canker  in  my  heart  in  this  direction,  and  had 
I  been  of  mine  uncle's  bitter  soul,  there  is  no  doubt  that 
he  would  have  made  me  hate  my  brother,  for  he  was  a 
very  devil  for  seeing  into  the  defects  of  human  nature 
and  Uying  bare  what  was  evilest  there.     But,  as  Heaven 
knoweth,  for  all  my  weaknesses,  and  1  have  many    I 
longed  rather  for  love  and  justice  than  for  revenge 
against  any  soul.    Then  1  said,  "  But  hast  thou  no 
regard  for  the  lady  countess  ?  " 
"  The  lady  countess,"  he  spake  fiercely,  "  hateth  me, 


■■Sbuhw 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  71 

though  scarce  as  deep  as  ^0  hateth  thee,  whom  she 
hateth  most  next  to  thy  mother's  memory  in  all  this 
world.  She  regardeth  me  but  as  the  one  who  represents 
the  Church  to  her  pious  mind." 

At  this  I  was  sad,  for  I  was  but  a  lonely  youth,  and 
I  had  thought  that  for  all  her  pride  and  dislike  for  me 
she  was  a  good  woman  in  her  narrow,  religious  way, 
and  in  somewhat  reminded  me  of  my  mother. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  rpHESE    people    are    naught   to   .ne   and    thee " 
continued  the  priest.      "  We  are  in    .         u 
a^t    thou  and  I;  J  thou  ha«t  L  Jre^  j' 
didat  thou  but  know  if      i^a    j    •/    .  wrong, 

'I  know  not  «.d  ere  not  I  "  I  cried,  for  I  wm  we.r. 
of  h,.  .tern,!  bin,.  „j  ^^  .,  |  ™  "••^ 

the^  w„  .ome  wrong  done  n,^  Mother,  whtw^   ' 

.'.'  J"  °'  "J'  "">*"  »    Thou  .rt  mad  !  "  I  cried. 
It  18  even  so,"  he  answ^rpH      "  tu      l 
thou  wert  hnm       /  '^'^ered.       Thy  shame  u  that 
tnou  wert  bom  out  of  wedlock,  and  that  thou  art 
known    o  the  world  as  what  is  called  a  basta^-nd 
thy  mother  as  no  wife."  "»swra,  and 

"'Tis  a  foul  he!",  cried,  "thou  black,  evil  priest." 


i 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I 


t 


Wore  „..  ,„,  „  ^  ^  „^„  ,^  ^_^  «m 

I  p»t  h.m  by  when  the  truth  of  hi.  word,  cme  to 
m.   „d  ru.h«.  bhadly.  ,  h„ew  not  where.  mZZ 

^td  th!n  M  r^r?," "  "■'  "•■*  -"o  •«»- 

refl,  and  then  black,  and  I  knew  no  more 
When  I  neit  .woke   to  knowledge  of  thU  w„rH 

Healn-^r.'"'^  T"  ^'   '"  ""  «-•   "••"^ 
|Mk  mto  a  deep  .leep  from  which  I   woke   more  re- 

«=.  a,  I  Ud  in  my  m«l„e«  run  out  round  a  great 
headJand  toward  the  Ude,  which  being  on  iu  reC 
would  ««n  have  c^ulfed  m.,  had  n^  Father  TrZ 
...  .  «.rt  of  deepair  followed  me  and  brought  LZ2 

'uz:  r  ^'  '""^ ""'  "•" "« ^-^  '"^^^ 

dead,  and  h.m«lf  more  dead  than  alive.  That  thi. 
.rang,  man  did  all  thi.,  „„,  ,„,  .„,  ,„,,  j„^  ^/^ 
other,  thought,  hut  a.  1  knew  for  .  .tern  Zf^ 
o^^.  own,  wherein  I  h«l  felt  from  the  fi.,t  I'ZZ 
play  a  necewary  part,  only  made  me  fear  aud  di.hke 


74 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


him  all  the  more,  for  he  seemed  like  one  who  would 
bring  a  soul  back  from  the  dead  to  carry  h:j  own  bitter 
purpose  to  its  end. 

I  have  since  felt  what  agony  the  man  must  have 
suffered,   himself  half  dead  with   his  own  sickness, 
following  me  along  those  treacherous,  devouring  tide- 
washes,  that  were  like  to  steal  me,  and  with  me  his 
hope  of  revenge,  out  of  his  fierce  grip.    How  he  must 
have  .struggled,  raved,  and  cursed  till  he  got  me  home 
to  t!ie  castle,  only  an  aged,  infirm  miser,  bearing  his  load 
of  gold,  and  fleeing  from  the  robber  Death,  can  realise. 
I  was  months  coming  back  to  my  former  health 
of  body,  but  as  to  mind  and  spirit  I  was  never  mine 
own  self  again.    The  memory  of  the  priest's  words 
on  the  sands  rankled  in  my  heart  and  burned  into  my 
soul  Uke  the  searing  iron  of  the  brandc  that  marks 
the  criminal.    My  brother  Hugh,  who  at  times  came 
to  see  me  as  I  lay  there,  remarked  this  great  change, 
but  laid  it  rather  to  the  effect  of  my  illness. 

"Thou  art  older,  brother  Ian,"  he  would  say, 
"  What  siren  of  the  ocean  came  up  on  the  sands  and 
stole  away  thy  youth  ?"  At  this  I  would  mutt«r 
and  turn  from  the  subject,  for  through  all  my  hideous 
woe  I  ioved  him  stUl.  Careless  and  proud,  yet  |je 
had  ever  the  fair  sunny  ways  and  open  heart  of  a  true 
man.  But  the  curse  was  on  him,  as  on  ua  all,  and 
mine  uncle  Angus  was  as  apt  to  read  him  as  he  read 
me,  and  to  play  on  Ids  weakticss  as  ho  had  pinyed  on 
mine,  but  to  a  more  deadly  end. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  75 

"  Thou  growest  more  like  thine  uncle  Angus  every 
day."  he  would  say  to  me  in  his  light  way,  not  knowing 
the  real  meaning  of  hie  words. 

"  Gk)d  forbid !  "  I  would  say. 

"  My  saintly  mother  and  he  would  make  a  Church- 
man of  thee."  he  would  laugh;  "but  let  them  not. 
Th    .  wcrt  not  made  for  a  cowl ;  but  when  thougettest 
ovei     Ms  weak  fit  come  out  with  me.    Leave  those 
cursed  books  which  have  bewitched  thee,  and  have 
stolen  thy  youth  and  strength.    There  is  a  devil  in 
those   black  letters   which   mine    uncle   Angus   i>ores 
over.    I  will  make  thee  a  man-at-arms  and  get  thee 
a  knighthood  at  Court,  where  I  am  to  go  some  day 
when  my  father  makes  his  peace  tnere ;  and  we  will 
see  aU  the  fair  ladies  and  bold  gaUants.    See,  we  be 
most  men  now."    And  so  he  would  go  on,  and  then 
would  leave  me  and  I  would  not  see  him  again  for 
days,  when  he  would  come  in  and  be  very  sorrowful 
for  his  forgetfiUness.    Toward  the  latter  part  of  my 
illness,  however,  he  came*  but  once,  and  I  noted  a 
marked  change  in  him.    He  was  silent  and  moo<ly, 
and  when  I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  he  answered 
with  some  heat,  "  It  is  all  my  danmetl  uncle  Angus, 
who  would  rule  me  as  he  doth  my  father."     He  then 
went  out,  and  I  marvelled  what  new  trouble  was  afoot. 
Only  once  did  the  lady  countess  visit  my  sick-room, 
and  that  was  when  my  weakness  was  at  its  worst  and 
they  thought  I  was  to  die.     1  have  said  tlmt  she  was  a 
very  reUgious  and  pious  woman,  and  in  her  way  desirous 


*  '1 


76 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


of  doing  good,  and  she  thought  it  her  dut7  to  her  soul 
and  mine  to  come  in  and  bid  me  God-speed.    It  was 
•t  a  time  when  I  was  very  weak,  and  when  I  was  told 
that  she  was  coming  my  heart  yearned  for  some  woman's 
ove,  as  aU  poor  Ul  souls  do,  Uke  chUdren  that  are  help- 
less.    But  she  camo  in  so  proud,  stately,  and  cold, 
that  she  might  have  been  some  austere  moonbeam' 
and  she  so  froze  my  soul  with  her  short,  cold  exhorta- 
tions  and  distant  manner,  wherein  was  little  warmth  or 
human  sympathy,  that  I  was  glad  when  she  was  gone 
Then  I  realised  how  she  and  others  looked  upon  me 
as  one  beyond  the  pale  of  those  who  may  look  for 
human  happiness. 

The  priest  was  my  most  common  visitor,  and  he 
was  truly  desirous  of  repairing  what  he  had  done  to 
my  spirit,  and  seemed  doubly  anxious  to  get  back 
into  my  favour.    But  he  soon  saw  that  it  would  take 
Ume  to  heal  over  what  he  had  wrought  betwixt  us 
for  my  one  love  in  the  world  was  my  mother's  memory' 
and  no  one  knew  this  better  than  mine  uncle  Angus.' 
Yet  It  was  not  possible  in  nature  not  to  grow  to  tolerate 
the  man  who  had  been  so  assiduous,  and  who  did  so 
much  to  make  life  tolerable  for  me  in  my  great  physical 
Illness.    Besides,   he  saw  how  matters  were   betwixt 
U8.  and  carefully  left  me  to  myself  when  he  thought 
1  would  like  to  be  left  alone.    This  gave  me  much 
tune  for  soUtary  thought  and  observation,   and   by 
this  means  I  was  enabled  to  make  a  discovery  which 
»t»fil«l  me  out  of  my  sick-bed  inaction,  and  which. 


»^6t-«il?»-J 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  77 

though  it  gave  me  much  uneasinew.  brought  me 
out  from  my  uaeleM  repinings  to  a  self-forgetfulneas 
necessary  to  my  speedy  recovery. 

My  room,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  small  one.  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  grim  tower  occupied  by  mine 
uncle.     It  was  almost  square,  with  a  heavy  beamed 
roof,  and  lighted  on  the  one  side  high  up  in  the  wall  by 
a  small  window,  such  as  we  have  in  our  fortresses,  so 
that,  much  as  I  might    have    desired,  had  I  been  a 
prisoner  I  could  not  have  escaped  that  way,  so  narrow 
was  the  outside  opening.    At  times  the  sea  air  would 
gurgle  and  beUow  in  this  window  and  the  dim  light 
come  m,  but  never  the  sunshine,  as  no  ray  could  ever 
penetrate.    As  I  lay  there  day  by  day  I  had  a  good 
chance  to  study  those  walls,  and,  as  sick  people  do, 
read   each   separate   stone   and  beam,   not  excepting 
the  floor,  when  one  day,  having  noticed  the  comer 
behind  the  heavy  oaken  door,  it  seemed  that  there 
was  somewhat  peculiar  about  the  paving  which  waa 
not  found  in  the  rest  of  the  room.    This  idea  did  not 
come  all  at  once,  but  gradually  grow  upon  me.    It 
seemed  that  at  some  time  the  stone  in  that  comer 
had  been  removed  or  was  made  to  remove,  but  why, 
I  did  not  consider,  but  put  the  thought  away  from  me 
as  sick  persons  will,  in  a  half-dreamy  manner.    How- 
ever, the  next  time  my  gaze  came  to  the  spot  in  its 
casual  wanderings,  the  ideu  rose  again,  and  in  time 
became  fixed,   so  much  so  that   I  determined  when 
my  legs  grew  strong  enough  to  move  I  would  U>k 


m 


7« 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


cIoMly  into  the  matter.  This  determination  was  soon 
followed  by  a  desire  to  get  stronger,  and  had  much 
to  do  with  my  final  recovery. 

At  last,  one  day,   when   I  felt  mine  inward  spirit 
and  mine  outward  man  equal  to  the  task,  knowing 
that  I  should  be  alone.  I  crawled  out  of  my  couch 
and  staggered  to  that  corner  where   lay  the  object 
of   my   suspicions.     When    I   had   steadied   my   head 
from  the  swimming  sickness  consequent  on  my  first 
standing  alone.  I  felt  with  my  hands  and  discovered 
that  the  stone  in  the  comer  was  a  large  flag  or  paving- 
stone  apart  from  the  others.    I  then  groped  for  a  place 
whereby  it   could    be   moved,  and   to   my  agreeable 
surprise  found  a  great  iron  ring  at  one  side  next  to 
the  wall,  set  in  a  sort  of  mortise.    I  now  knew  that  it 
was  a  trap  leading  secretly  to  somewhere,  either  down  to 
the  sea  or  to  some  dungeon.  My  desire  for  strength  hence- 
forth overcame  all  other  thoughts,  and  my  mind  was 
full  set  to  solve  thiH  mystery  for  myself.     I   wouhl 
now  stand  a  httle  every  day,  and  walk  about  my  room 
to  recover  my  legs,  as  it  were ;  and  I  soon  showed  a  desire 
for  nourishment  which  surprised  mine  uncle  and  the 
aerving-man    who    brought    me    my    meals.    All    the 
while  I  was  possessed  with  a  fear  lest  mine  uncle  with 
his  prying  eyes  should  discover  the  trap  in  the  dark 
oemer.    But   \m  observation,   which  was  Umited  to 
me  and  my  countenance,  was  puxiled  to  understand 
tberootofmyctesiretoUve.    In  this  manner,  I  soon  got 
"*^t^,  and  began  to  go  out  in  the  courtyard  and  get 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  yq 

a  sniff  of  air,  sea,  and  mountaing  which  quite  revived  me. 
Meanwhile  I  had  secretly  procured  an  old  pike  of  strong 
metal,  which  I  brought  to  my  room,  and  one  morning 
about  daybreak  awoke  with  the  resolve  to  discover 
my  mystery-  and  find  what  was  under  the    stone  in 
the  comer.    Oetting  my  pike  and  forcing  it  through 
the  ring,  which,  in  spit^  of  it«  nist,  I  raised.  I  worked 
at  the  trap,  using  all  my  strength,  until  by  decrees  I 
had  raised  it  so  that  it  stood  on  edge,  reveahng'to  my 
gate— what  I  had  expected  to  see— a  stairway  in  the 
living  rock  leading  downward.    Fixing  the  bar  to  my 
chamber  door  so  as  not  to  be  disturbed  from  the  out- 
side,  I  muttered  a  short    prayer,  and  descended  by 
what  seemed  a  winding  stair  hewn  out  of  the  rock 
beneath  the  castle  wall.    Soon  I  thought  that  I  per- 
ceived  far  below  me  a  dim  Ught  as  of  day.    I  knew 
but  little  of  these  matters  at  the  time,  but  since  have- 
learned  how  these  old  castles  had  their  secret  passages 
and  holds  to  hide  in  or  to  escape  by  sea  or  land  in  case 
nl  necessity.    This  passage,  however,  appeared  to  be 
one  long  unused,  and  it  must  have  been  built  ages 
before  by  the  founders,  or  perchance  him  of  the  wizard 
tower.     At  any  rate,  I  was   certain  that  none  in  the 
castle  now  knew  of  the  trap  and  stairwav  until  I  had 
discovered    it.    Meanwhile,    I    continued'  to    descend 
until  I  heard  the  lapping  of  water  and  feh  a  cool  breese 
of  the  sea  wind  on  ray  cheek,  and  knew  that  I  was 
near  the  ocean.    Just  tk.n  I  turned  a  corner,  and  saw 
from  the  step  or  ledge  whereon  I  stood  a  sort  of  window 


o 


8o 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


''< 


or  porthole  that  let  in  the  dayUght.  and  far  at  my 
feet  a  deep  well  or  hole,  where  the  «mi  washed  in  and 
out.  I  drew  back  with  a  shudder,  for  I  saw  it  was  a 
prison  or  black  hole;  and.  looking  more  carefully  I 
noticed  that  to  an  iron  ring  in  the  rocks  was  fastened 
a  great  chain  which  even  now  held  part  of  a  wasted 
skeleton,  showing  how  some  poor  prisoner  had  died. 

Seeing  that  I  could  not  proceed  farther  by  this  way 
I  went  back,  and  after  turning  the  comer  of  the  wall* 
by  which  I  had  come  I  fancied  that  I  perceived  a  dim 
light  and  heard  the  muffled  sound  of  voices  on  the 
other  side  of  the  wall.    Putting  mine  eyes  to  the  chink 
or  crevice  from  which  the  light  came.  I  saw  that  the 
wall,  which  had  given  way  in  this  place,  separated 
the  stairway  I  was  on  from  a  similar  one  on  the  other 
side  leading  to  the  tower  wherein  mine  uncle  dwelt 
The  voices  seemed  now  to  come  from  above;  but  at 
the  foot  of  the  other  stairway  I  could  see  but  dimlv 
a  quiet  cove  of  the  sea  in  what  seemed  a  natural  cave 
in  the  rocks,  where  the  sea  washed  at  high  tide     As 
I  gawd  the  voices  came  nearer,  and  I  distinguished 
that  of  my  priestly  uncle  in  earnest  conversation  with 
someone  else     Now  the  memory  of  that  grim  rumour 
of  him  which  said  that  he  had  a  familiar  spirit,  or 
demon,  overcame  me,  as  I  heard  the  answering  voice  • 
and    what  with  my  recent  sickness  and  a  new  fear 
which  I  could  not  explain,  my  knees  went  together 
beneath  me.  and  I  had  like  to  have  fled.    Overmastering 
my  dread,  however.  I  resolved  to  remain  and  discover 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  8i 

the   meaning  of  this  wcret  conversation,   and   what 
danger  or  terror  it  might  mean  to  us  all.    Just  then 
mme  uncle  came  down  the  stairs ;  his  face  was  from 
me,  but  I  could  see  him  plainly  in  the  dim  light,  and 
after  him  came  this  weird  shape  his  double.    I  had  now 
grown  somewhat  in  stature  and  mind,  but  for  all  this  I 
was  yet  but  a  lad.  and  this  idea  of  a  double  seemed 
now  proved  before  mine  eyes,  and  lent  me  a  new  horror 
to  my  former  knowledge  of  my  strange  uncle,  and  it 
needed  all  my  courage  to  abide  there  and  watch  the 
gnm   pnest   and   that   hideous   demon    which    report 
wid  he  had  conjured  up  by  the  magic  of  his  power, 
l^erchance.  as  some  said,  it  might  have  been  the  dread 
Wizard  himself. 

Mine  uncle  seemed  much  agitated  by  some  feeUng 
he  had.  for  he  said  something  in  fierce  tones,  the  words 
of  wbch  I  did  not  catch ;  and  just  then  the  demon 
turned  to  answer,  and  to  my  surprise  revealed  the  face 
and  the  portly  person  of  my  lord  the  princely  Bishop 
of  the  Cattynes.  '^ 

Ere  I  could  recover  from  my  astonishment  at  this 
new  marvel,  the  bishop  answered  my  uncle's  words 
Bomewhat  ironically.  "So  thine  impetuous  nephew 
hath  begotten  him  a  passion  for  my  ward  ?  This  is 
news.     How  hath  he  got  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  foraying  and  meddlesome  youth."  answered 
the  pnest,  "and  in  some  chance  skirting  by  thine 
abbey  got  espial  of  this  same  dove  of  thine.  Perehance 
some  of  thy  retainers  gave  him  word  of  her  beauty 


MICROCOPV  RfSOUJTION  TBT  CHART 

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82 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


for  it  is  common  talk  that  your  Grace  hath  a  turn  that 
way." 

"These  are  but  base  lies,"  answered  the  bishop 
more  warmly,  "  and  which  it  Uttle  becometh  thy  cloth 
to  harbour  of  me.  She  is  but  a  child,  and  of  high 
birth,  higher  than  you  would  dream,  sir  priest." 

"  And  hath  a  right  royal  dowry  too,  no  doubt.  Hath 
she  not,  my  lord  bishop  ?  "  returned  mine  uncle. 

"  That  be,  as  is  her  origin,  a  secret  betwixt  myself 
and  my  pmssant  master  the  princely  Albany,"  answered 
the  bishop.  "  But  thou  Shalt  see  her  soon.  She  is 
but  a  tender  blossom  for  this  world,  and  as  I  have 
ever  treated  her  with  that  kindness  and  respect  which 
becometh  her  station,  she  looketh  upon  me  as  a  sort 
of  father,  never  having  known  any  other.  But  this 
mad  project  of  thy  nephew ;  what  thinkest  thou  will 
become  of  it  ?  " 

"  'Tis  but  to  carry  her  off,  and  out  of  thy  power, 
and  tis  only  the  plan  of  a  hot-headed  boy  and  to  be 
laughed  at,"  returned  mine  uncle. 

"Did  thy  rude  brother  my  lord  earl  but  ken  her 
house  and  fortune,  it  might  mean  a  different  matter 
and  quick  ruin  to  aU  our  schemes,"  answered  the 
bishop.  "  This  plan  of  ours  must  be  brought  to  a 
qmck  conclusion."  Then  foUowed  a  conference  of  a 
most  cruel  and  fiendish  nature,  to  which  I  was  an 
unwiUing  audience,  but  which  showed  that  mine  evil 
tmcle  was  privy  to  a  dastardly  plot  to  use  his  knowledge 
of  the  secret  passage  to  seize  the  castle  by  entering  by 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


83 


the  sea,  and  kiU  or  imprison  my  father.    There  was  much 
more,  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  relate,  and  some  of 
which  I   but  imperfectly  caught,   though  it  seemed 
that  I  also  was  brought  into  the  matter,  and  from 
what  I  could  gain  their  scheme  was  that  I  was  to  become 
a  Churchman,  and  the  whole  wealth  of  the  family  was 
to  be  sequestered  in  this  way.    But  I  forgot  all  else 
save  the  despicable  treachery  of  my  fiendish  uncle, 
who  would  lead  an  enemy  into  his  brother's  hold  and 
wreck  his  own  blood  for  a  brute  hate,  and  I  felt  that 
had  I  had  a  weapon  at  the  time,  and  him  near  me,  I 
would  have  slain  him  for  his  infamy. 

While  I  was  turning  over  these  thoughts,  the  bishop 
gave  a  sharp  whistle,  and  a  small  craft,  manned  by 
a  couple  of  men,  came  into  the  cove  below,  and  the 
bishop  descending  was  soon  carried  out  of  my  sight. 
As  I  stayed  there  dazed,  mine  uncle  went  up  past  me 
muttering  to  himself  unto  his  tower  above.    I  wasted 
no  time  lor  fear  that  he  might  take  it  upon  him  to 
pay  an  early  visit  to  my  chamber,  so  as  soon  as  his 
steps  died  out  in  the  distance  I  too  arose,  and,  some- 
what  cramped  by  my  position,  crawled  up  mine  own 
stairs,  hastily  replaced  my  trap,  and,  unbarring  my 
door,  returned  to  my  couch,  for  I  felt  I  needed  all  my 
strength  and  much  reflection  upon  this  most  perilous 
business. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


"  Arouse,  my  men,  and  arm  yo  cap  and  thigh. 
We'll  'siege  this  demon,  seize  him  in  his  hold, 
And  wreck  his  fortunes." — Old  Tale. 

T  PONDERED  long,  and  was  much  perplexed  what 
-*•    to  do,  for  I  had  no  doubt  but  that  mine  uncle 
was  determined  in  this  project;    and  as  for  the  lord 
bishop,  he  had  all  to  gain  and  naught  to  lose,  as  well 
as  an  old  debt  to  pay  unto  mine  ill-guided  father.    It 
had  also  been  shown  me  that  no  good  was  intended  to 
myself,  save  that  I  was  to  be  used  as  the  instrument 
of  their  common  ambition  to  bring  about  the  ruin  of 
our  house.    The  lord  bishop's  part  in  the  matter  I 
put  aside  as  being  but  the  natural  role  he  would  play 
had  he  the  opportunity.    But  mine  uncle's  attitude 
was  what  deeply  amazed  and  angered  me.    There  was 
no  doubt  that  tliis  man,  one  of  great  gifts  and  parts, 
had  he  seen  right  to  put  them  to  proper  use,  was  now 
possessed  by  a  spirit  of  dread  revenge  which  ruled  his 
life.    As  I  afterward  learned,  this  idea  or  passion  had 
governed  his  actions  from  an  early  date,  even  when  he 
and  my  father  were  young  men  such  as  Hugh  and  I  now 
were.    The  wrong  of  his  position,  and  my  father's 

81 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


85 


treatment  of  him,  acting  upon  a  fierce,  cruel  nature 
of  uncommon  subtlety,  had  warped  his  soul  into  this  one 
brute  idea,  that  if  he  could  not  rule  he  would  wreck 
those  who  did— even  as  dreamed  that  great  Prince  of 
Darkness  spoken  of  by  the  fathers,  and  who  fell  by 
his  ambition.    It  outraged  my  spirit  to  know  that  a 
man  of  my  blood,  or  of  any  blood,  could  descend  to 
such  a  depth  as  to  coin  so  much  of  learning,  subtlety 
of  mind,  and  years  of  thought,  to  devote  them  to  one 
grim  vengeance.    This  thought  so  affected  me  that  I 
could  scarcely  tolerate  the  idea  that  this  man  had 
lived  so  close  to  me,  and  had  actuaUy  nursed  me  back 
to  life,  and  that  not  without  some  human  tenderness. 
As  I  lay  thus,  pondering,  the  door  opened,  and  in  his 
silent,   patronising  manner  mine  uncle  entered,  and 
stood  before  me,  as  if  naught  had  happened,  and  with 
a  calm  demeanour  and  unruffled  brow,  as  though  he  were 
not  at  that  instant  planning  the  destruction  of  his 
house,  but  were  some  benevolent  mediciner,  asked  me 
how  I  did. 

Now  it  was  a  peculiar  power  this  man  had  over  me; 
that,  hate  him  as  I  did  in  his  absence,  and  even  in  his 
presence  for  his  sardonic,  evil  manner,  yet  he  had  a 
gift  of  speech  and  persuasion,  and  a  way  of  putting 
matters  that  either  placed  me  in  the  wrong  or  else 
made  me  doubt  sometimes  that  my  ill  thoughts  con- 
cerning him  were  just.  Even  now,  when  he  spoke 
and  looked  upon  me,  I  began  to  doubt  whether  all  I 
had  seen  and  heard  in  the  passage  beneath  were  not 


■■-^■'f- 


86 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


the  creation  of  a  mind  ilisordered  by  illness,  or  the 
vision  of  my  morning  sleep ;  and  were  it  not  that  I 
could  see  that  flagstone  in  the  corner,  and  remembered 
his  fiendish  plot  too  recently,  he  would  have  overcome 
me  by  his  bland  presence  and  seeming  kindness. 

Matters  had  gone  too  far  by  now  for  me  to  temporise, 
yet  I  could  not  face  this  man  in  the  open  and  charge 
him  with  his  treachery  until  I  had  had  more  thought 
with  myself.    So  I  turned  my  face  to  the  waU  and 
said  that   I   had  slept   but  indifferent  well.     "For, 
mine  uncle,"  I  said,  "  I  have  had  most  fearful  dreams,' 
and  they  were  concerning  thee  and  this  castle."    And 
I  turned  about  and  looked  at  him  suddenly  fair  in  the 
face ;   whereat  his  countenance  went  white,  and  then 
dark  with  a  maUcious  scowl. 
"  Thou  dreamedst  of  me  ?  "  he  cried. 
"  Yea,"  I  continued,  still  watching  his  face,  "  yea, 
of  thee  !    I  dreamed  that  thou  didst  lead  men  up  out 
of  the  sea,  who  did  bum  and  plunder  all  here  !  " 

I  got  no  further.  He  blanched  as  I  spoke,  and  then 
cried,  as  though  I  had  not  been  there,  "  Did  I  beheve 
such  lore,  I  would  think  that  the  wizard's  spirit  had 
fallen  upon  him."  Then,  turning  to  me,  he  said, 
"  And  if  thy  wild  dreams  were  true,  couldst  thou  blame 
me,  and  thou  least  of  all  ?  " 

'"Twere  base  and  unnatural  were  it  true,"  I  cried. 
"  The  creatures  of  different  kind  war  on  each  other^ 
but  those  of  a  kind  band  together.  Yea,"  I  cried,' 
"  it  were  base  and  unnatural." 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


87 


1 

J 

: 


"  Boy,"  he  answered  fiercely,  "  and  what  am  I  but 
baae^  and  unnatural  in  the  begetting,  even  ns  thou 
art,"  he  cried  in  the  venom  of  his  rage. 

"  'Tis  a  foul  Ue  !  "  I  answered,  forgetting  all  else, 
and,  leaping  from  my  bed,  faced  him  there  on  the 
floor,  "  and  none  knoweth  it  better  than  thou.  And  I 
tell  thee  I  believe  thou  hadat  a  hand  in  that  ill  matter !  " 

Then  a  queer  thing  happened  which  almost  quelled 
mine  anger  against  him.  "  Ian,"  he  said,  "  I  can  tell 
thee  truth,  that  in  that  matter  I  had  but  one  hand, 
and  that  was  for  thy  good!  Didst  thou  know  all 
thou  wouldst  bless  me  for  ever,  as  thy  mother  did, 
who  was  a  good  woman." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  I  teU  thee  straight, 
one  wrong  doth  not  justify  another." 

"Boy,  thou  art  a  fool!"  he  answered,  losing  his 
fierceness,  perchance  seeing  he  had  gone  too  far.  "  Thy 
dreams  concerning  thine  ill  uncle,  who  hath  saved  thy 
life,  have  turned  thy  head.  Thou  wilt  Uve  to  bless 
me  yet.  Forget  thy  mermen  ;  they  are  but  shadows. 
If  I  do  not  bring  more  flesh-and-blood  creatures  than 
the  seamen  of  thy  dreams  into  this  castle,  thou  hast 
but  little  to  fear  from  me,"  and  he  laughed  scornfully. 
But  there  was  a  lowering  look  on  his  face  as  he  went 
out  that  gave  the  lie  to  his  words. 

I  now  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  useless  to  parry 
with  this  man,  who  was  too  far  gone  in  his  ill-schemes 
to  be  touched  by  any  human  feeUng,  but  that  I  must  in 
some  way  warn  the  castle  of  its  danger,  for  I  knew 


88 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


that  within  a  few  days  this  secret  project  would  be 
brought  into  action,  and  all  resistance  be  too  late. 
This  seemed  to  me,  however,  to  be  a  difficult  matter 
to  manage  without   bringing  upon  me  mine  uncle's 
ill-will  and  devilish  skill  of  reVenge,  for  with  all  my 
pnde  I  feared  the  man,  as  did  all  who  knew  him     I 
was  therefore  in  desperate  case  how  to  work  the  matter. 
But  an  event  happened  which  brought  me  out  of 
my  quandary  and  saved  me  the  trouble  of  unmasking 
nune  uncle's  deviltries.    While  I  lay  there  my  door 
opened  a  second  time-this  time  suddenly,  and  in 
burst  my  lordly  brother  Hugh,  his  face  once  more 
aglow  with  the  old-time  fervour,  and  a  new  light  of 
manliness  I  had  not  afore  seen  thereon. 

"Rouse  up,  my  sad  brother!"  he  cried,  "rouse 
thee  up,  and  get  thee  ready  !  Forget  thine  ilkess.  for 
I  have  great  and  glorious  news.  We  are  to  besiege 
the  cunmng  Churchman  in  his  hold." 

"Nay!"  I  cried,  and  I  leapt  up  in  astonishment 
with  a  queer  trembling,  for  this  was  a  light  out  of  my 
darkness.    "  Not  the  bishop's  castle  ?  " 

"The  very  same,"  he  cried.  "His  time  hath 
come !  " 

''  When  doth  this  happen  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  This  very  even,"  he  answered. 
"  Thank  Heaven !  "   I  cried,  forgetting  all  in  my 
su^nse  and  gladness  at  this  new  turn  of  matters. 


'  We  will  beat  them  yet 
"  Ho,  ho !  "  he  laughed,  "  thou 


art  no  Churchman 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


«9 


then,  my  clerkly  Ian.    Thon  shalt  ride  with  me  indeed. 
But  hearken,  my  sedate  1  .other,  I  have  other  news 
for  thine  ears.    We  are  not  only  to  smoke  out  this 
same  Church  fox.  but  we  are.  Uke  knights  of  old.  to 
release  impri.soned  beauty.    There  is  a  fair  maiden, 
like  as  the  morn  for  beauty  and  form  and  manner. 
I  have  seen  her,  and  dost  thou  know,  my  brother,  I 
think  that  she  hath  favoured  me  by  a  glance  ?    My 
father  hath  discovered  that  she  is  no  less  than  the 
Lady  Margaret  Seton,  daughter  of  the  late  Lord  Seton 
of  that  ilk,  who  is  ward  to  the  King,  whom  men  know 
to  be  imbecile,  and  who  alloweth  his  brother  Albany 
to  keep  her  in  charge.    Now,  for  some  purpose  of  his 
own,  Albany  hath  handed  her  over  to  charge  of  this 
worldly    bishop    for   sale-keeping   in    these    northern 
wilds,  where  she  had  been  lost,  and  her  beauty  wasted, 
had  not  I  caught  sight  of  her.    Now,  my  father  hath 
taken  vow  to  release  her  and  punish  this  bishop  at 
the  same  time." 

"  But  the  Duke  of  Albany  !    Wilt  thou  not  make  a 
dangerous  enemy  ?  " 

"  Dangerous,"  he  repUed.  "  Not  more  than  he  hath 
been  in  the  past !  He  hath  an  eye  on  the  throne,  and 
would  get  rid  of  my  royal  cousin  Eothsay  did  he  dare 
so  men  say ;  but  my  father  is  of  those  who  have  an 
eye  on  his  deviltries,  which  will  bring  him  low  yet,  for 
all  his  climbing  so  high," 

Then  a  thought  struck  me,  and  I  said,  "  Doth  our 
uncle  know  of  this  intended  sortie  ?  " 


\ 


( 


I 


! 


90 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


liJ 


"  Yea,"  he  answered,  *'  as  all  in  the  caatle  know 
what  hath  been  in  preparation  for  this  good  hour  or 
more." 

"  Then  will  he  spoil  all ! "  I  cried.  "  See  that  he 
hath  not  left  the  hold." 

"  What  mean  you  ? "  answered  Hugh  in  amare- 
ment,    "  He  would  not  go  so  far.    He  such  a  traitor  ?  " 

"  I  may  not  speak  further,"  I  cried ;  "  but  see  hath 
he  gone."  And  we  both  hurried  out  into  the  passage, 
where  we  met  the  lady  countess's  page  seeldng  the 
priest,  as  she  desired  to  hold  Mass  for  the  souls  of  those 
whom  she  feaied  might  be  lost,  for  it  was  against  her 
will  and  advice  that  this  attack  had  been  planned. 

"  Is  the  father  not  here  ?  "  cried  the  page.  "  I  have 
'  ocked  at  his  door  for  some  time  back,  but  have  heard 
naught.    He  must  be  at  private  devotions." 

"  See  that  he  hath  not  left  the  castle  ! "  cried  Hugh ; 
and  the  youth,  hurrying  out,  soon  returned,  saying 
none  had  gone  out,  as  strict  orders  were  given  that 
none  should  leave  the  bounds,  as  was  the  custom,  so 
that  he  must  still  be  within.  I  had  mine  own  suspicions, 
however,  as  to  mine  uncle's  powers  of  egress  not  known 
to  all ;  but  as  I  thought  matters  were  now  all  right, 
and  that  it  could  not  be  possible  for  him  in  so  short 
a  time  to  give  warning  to  the  bishop,  I  entered  with 
the  others  into  the  ardour  of  the  preparation  for  the 
coming  sortie. 

All  within  the  castle  and  outer  yard  were  now  busy  with 
preparations  :  furbishing  of  armour,  testing  of  weapons, 


t 


IAN  or  THE  ORCADES  91 

raarehalling  of  retainers,  and  selecting  of  others  to  take 
their  places;    for  those  who  were  not  to  go  were  to 
keep  guard  at  Girnigoe  in  case  a  return  sortie  were 
made  in  reprisal.    All  who  could  be  gathered  from 
far  and  near  among  the  earl's  vassals  were  brought 
in   by   messengers  sent  out  early  that  morning.     In 
this  manner  by  the  afternoon  quite  a  small  army  were 
as.sembled  with  pennoned  spears  and  bows  under  the 
walls  and  within  the  courtyard  of  the  castle.    I,  like 
others,  had  been  provided  with  armour  end  sword,  as 
I  was  to  ride  beside  my  brother,  who,  strong  against  the 
lady  countess's  will,  was  bent  on  being  in  the  front 
of   the   assault.    Having   remonstrated   with   him  in 
vain,  she  returned  to  the  chapel,  where  at  the  shrine 
of  her  favourite  saint   she   pleaded  for  herself,   her 
turbulent  lord,  and  valiant  son,   being  accompanied 
there  by  those  of  her  women  who,  like  herself,  were 
religious,   or  feigned   to   be,   being  her  foUowers-at 
least  those  of  them  who  were  not  engaged  in  helping 
to  get  ready  those  who  were  tc  issue  forth  for  a  no  less 
purpose  than  the  storming  of  the  house  of  a  prince  of 
the  Church. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  my  priestly  uncle  came  forth 
from  his  chamber,  looking  as  if  he  had  been  engrossed 
in  his  studies,  and  had  no  more  woridly  aims  or  passions 
in  his  mind.  Passing  with  a  furtive  smile  the  eager 
preparations  in  the  courtyard,  he  went  to  his  duty  in 
the  chapel.  Whether  he  had  got  out  of  the  castle  in 
the  meantime  by  some  way  he  had  by  sea,  or  had  sent 


92 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


'•( 


some  message,  I  could  not  tell  at  the  time  ;  but  after- 
ward  I  understfKKl  that  he  had  tried  to  do  ho  and  had 
failed.  If  this  were  true  it  was  marvellous  the  manner 
in  which  he  hid  his  defeat  and  went  calmly  about  bis 
office. 

When  all  was  ready  for  the  foray,  wliioh  was  to  be 
undertaken  in  the  evening  so  as  to  effect  a  complete 
surprise  under  cover  of  night,  we  were  all  assembled 
in  the  courtyard  ;    that  is,  all  those  who  formed  the 
main  body  of  the  knight's  followers,  who  were  on  horses 
and  ponies  with  footmen  to  run  behind.    A  trumpet 
was  then  sounded^  the  great  bell  of  the  courtyard  was 
rung,  and    the   command  was    issued    by  the  castle 
chamberlain  that  we  were  all  to  assemble,  as  many  as 
could  enter,  in  the  chapel,  there  to  be  assoiled  in  case 
of  death,   or  to  be   blessed   in   assurance  of  victory 
ere  our  going  forth ;    as  was,  and  is  yet,  the  custom 
of  our  nobles  and  their  clr-^s  of  retainers,  even  when 
issuing  forth  to  do  battle  with  their  neighbours.    Now 
there  were  some  of  our  following  who,  in  the  depth  of  their 
hearts,  were  doubtful  as  to  the  righteousness  of  this 
assault  of  a  churchly  hold,  w  that  this  command  to 
be  assoiled  and  blessed  came  as  a  comfort  to  some,  and 
8  thunderclap  to  others,  who,  not  knowing  the  inward 
nature  of  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  either  parties,  were 
at  doubt   with   therjselves  how   far  Mother  Church 
could,  or  would,  bless  and  protect  those  in  attack  on 
one  of  her  high  servants  or  ministers.    However,  it 
is  not  for  those  who  serve  to  deliberate,  but  to  do  their 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADHS  93 

lord's  bidding ;   and  there  were  men  in  our  party  who 
would  have  taken  the   bishop's  own  assoilment  and 
have  hung  his  very  self  that  same  night,  so  grim  and 
sordid  were  their  ideas  of  earth  and  heaven  and  the 
ruling  of  this  sad  world.    Therefore,  without  murmur, 
more  than  men  ought,  who  walk  in  a  mist  toward  a 
quaking  morass  whereof  they  know  not  the  footing, 
or  as  brute  beasts  who  tremble  in  their  limbs  but  still 
abide  the  commands  of  the  rider,  wo  all  went  into  the 
side-door  from  the  courtyard,  and  thence  into  the  main 
aisle  of  the  chapel,  where,  in  carven  stone  and  ancient 
splendour,  there  gloomed  the  tombs  of  the  great  lords 
and  dames  of  my  father's  house. 

There  we  stood  at  the  far  end  of  the  aisle  as  though 
we  feared  to  go  forward ;  but,  for  the  most  part  of  us, 
awaiting  the  command  of  our  liege  lord.  I,  for  my 
part,  held  more  wonderment  than  fear  of  this  strange 
affair,  watching  to  see  how  it  would  end ;  knowing, 
as  I  did,  that  my  priestly  uncle  was  the  one  to  have 
the  lafit  say  ere  it  were  accomplished. 

There  we  stood  in  the  central  nave  of  the  church, 
and  at  the  other  end,  where  dim  lights  bumed  on  the 
holy  altar,  stood  mine  uncle  in  his  priestly  robes,  his 
back  to  us  as  if  in  silent  prayer  or  ghostly  -ueditation. 
Below  him,  on  the  outside  of  the  altar  steps,  as  near 
as  a  woman  may  go  according  to  our  custom,  knelt 
the  lady  countess  and  her  pious  women  in  close  com- 
munion over  their  prayer-strings  for  the  woes  of  this 
barbarous  world. 


94 


FAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


f. 


i 


We  made  in  that  place  but  a  weird  and  dread  picture 
and  an  ill  contrast :  we,  on  our  part,  being  but  a  horde 
of  wild  men  of  blood  and  war,  with  spear  and  sword 
and  bow,  where  the  late  hght  of  day  streamed  through 
the  mullioned  windows,  blooay  with  ancient  scutcheons, 
on  the  grim,  gross,  passion-graven  faces  ;   and  opposite 
to  us  that  other  more  peaceful,  more  austere  group  at 
the  other  end  of  the  chapel,  th«  stem  priest  and  those 
sombrely  garbed  women  at  their  silent  prayers.    For 
a  moment  I  felt  as  if  our  entrance  were  rather  an  act 
of  sacrilege  than  one  of  religion.    But  my  meditations 
were  rudely  brok^  by  a  stir  behind  us,  and  my  martial 
father,  the  earl,  in  full  armour,  carrying  his  unsheathed 
sword,  strode  forward  and  cried  out— 

"Sir  priest,  as  lord  baion  of  these  territories,  I 
command  you  to  give  to  these  men-at-arms  here 
assembled  the  word  and  seal  of  Mother  Church's  bene- 
diction on  our  present  engagement,  so  that  they  may 
go  forth  in  good  soul  to  battle." 

At  this  the  women  arose,  led  by  the  lady  countess, 
and  shrank  to  one  side  of  the  altar,  as  if  in  expectation 
and  dread,  and  mine  uncle  turned  him  slowly  about 
with  that  sardonic  smile  on  his  face,  and  as  quietly  as 
though  addressing  but  one  ptrson,  spake  thus— 

"My  good  lord. and  brother,  it  were  well  that  Holy 

Church  knew  where  she  gave  her  blessing,  lest  in  the 

dark  broils  of  this  ill  world  she  assoiled  the  blade  that 

struck  her  own  holy  breast." 

"Presumptuous    priest,"    cried    the    eari,    "thou 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  95 

knowest  where  we  go,  and  thou  knowest  why,  yea, 
indeed  to  punish  the  unchurchly  bishop  of  this  territory 
under  my  lordship,  for  his  unchurchly  crimes,  and  to 
loosen  a  high-bom  maiden  from  this  wolf's  licentious 
clutches.  It  is  for  this  reason  we  demand  thy  blessing 
on  this  our  expedition." 

Thou  knowest,  my  brother,"  cried  the  priest, 
"  thut  it  were  sacrilege  to  bless  such  a  sortie  against 
the  sacred  person  of  a  prince  of  the  Church,  and  even 
thine  own  mad  lust  of  conquest  cannot  carry  thee 

S0f;l^" 

"  Brother  me  an  thou  darest,  thou  foul  bastard !  " 
cried  the  irate  eari,  "and  I  will  unpriest  thee  with 
this  blade,"  and  he  would  have  advanced,  but  the  lady 
countess  stepped  forward. 

"My  lordly  husband,"  she  said,  "forbear  to  add 
to  thy  many  sins  that  of  Cain,  and  that  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar.  Hearken  to  me,  thy  wife,  and  go  not  forth 
on  this  ill  attack  on  the  Church  of  God." 

"Madam,"  cried  the  earl,  "my  time  is  but  short, 
but  I  say  to  thee,  that  I  go  not  forth  against  the  Church, 
but  for  the  Church's  good,  to  punish  one  who  hath 
unchurched  himself  and  foully  usurped  the  place  of  a 
prince  by  his  arrogance  and  love  of  worldly  powers. 
I  go  not  against  a  holy  father,  but  against  one  who 
hath  taken  upon  him  my  lordly  functions  in  this  mine 
earldom  ;  who  hath  meddled  with  my  vassals,  coUected 
my  tithes  and  fees  of  feud,  as  belonging  to  me  only, 
as  this  foul  priest,  my  brother,  well  knoweth." 


•  t 


m 


96 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I: 

f) 
I 

(' 

\  i 

i    ■ 
I. 


•'I     ' 


"  'Tis  false ! "  cried  mine  uncle ;  "  and  if  thou  darest 
come  but  a  step  nearer  I  will  hurl  the  curse  of  Holy 
Church  on  you  and  yours,  so  that  ye  go  forth  to 
damnation  for  evermore."  . 

"Nay!  nay!"  cried  the  lady  countess,  "curse 
not,  he  will  relent !  " 

"  He  shall  do  this  or  die  !  "  cried  the  earl.  "  Away, 
woman ! "  and  pushing  the  lady  aside  he  confronted 
the  priest  at  the  altar  steps. 

"  Now,  false  priest,"  he  cried,  "  I  give  thee  but  three 
turns  of  the  hour-glass  in  which  to  come  to  my  bidding 
and  bless  these  men,  or  thou  wilt  be  a  dead  priest  and 
past  all  cursing  for  ever." 

At  this  the    lady  countess    shrieked,  the    women 
screamed  in  terror,  and  even  the  soldiers  around  me 
shrank  back  in  dread  of  the  deed  about  to  be  com- 
mitted ;  and  indeed  it  were  a  dreadful  one  were  it  to 
happen,  as  against  a  brother,  a  man  of  God,  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar,  for  few  of  them  knew  as  I  did 
the  real  ill-thoughts  and  deeds  of  mine  uncle  Angus. 
It  also  seemed  to  me  that  the  priest  in  his  bitter  maUce 
would  dare  the  worst,  even  his  own  death,  to  foil  the 
man  whom  he  hated  worst  in  the  world.    Now,  knowing 
this,  and  how  important  it  was  to  us  all  that  such  a 
dread  crime  should  not  be  laid  at  the  doors  of  our 
house,  and  that  it  was  necessary  also  to  check  the  proud 
bishop  in  his  career,  I  felt  it  about  time  that  I  also  took 
a  hand  in  this  matter,  for,  lad  as  I  was,  I  knew  that  I 
held  a  power  of  knowledge  over  my  priestly  uncle 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  97 

such  as  would  make  him  come  to  our  terms.  So  I 
plucked  up  what  courage  I  could  muster  and  stepped 
forward. 

"My  lord  earl,"  I  cried,  "wilt  thou  let  me  speak 
but  one  word  to  mine  uncle  ere  this  matter  be  decided  ?  " 
At  this  the  earl  turned  on  me. 

"Boy,"  he  cried,  "thou?  What  hast  thou  to  do 
with  me  and  this  man  ?  " 

"  But  too  much,"  I  cried,  "  as  my  sorrow  knoweth, 
but  methinks  that  if  I  have  one  word  aside  with  him 
he  will  grant  us  his  blessing."  At  this  all  were  astonished 
save  the  priest,  who  merely  looked  at  me  and  then 
lowered  his  eyes.  But  the  earl  said,  "  Say  what  thou 
likest,  boy,  and  if  thou  hast  any  foolish  kindness  toward 
yon  Church  hound,  better  say  it  quick,  for  his  moments 
be  short." 

"My  moments  be  as  short  as  Heaven  may  make 
them,"  answered  the  priest. 

But  I  hurried  to  his  side  and  clutched  him  by  the 
sleeve,  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  but  fiercely,  in  his  ear 
"  This  is  no  time  for  madness,"  I  cried,  "  thou  must 
give  this  blessing,  and  let  us  begone,  at  thy  peril." 

"  Thou  fool,  thou  weak  fool,"  he  answered  fiercely, 
"  thou  hadst  better  leave  plotting  to  thy  betters,"  and 
he  made  as  though  to  shake  me  off.  But  I  would  not 
be  put  aside  in  this  manner. 

"  Look  here,  mine  uncle,"  I  cried,  "  I  am  no  man's 
fool,  much  less  thine,  thou  perjured  priest.    I  know 
thee  and  thy  grim  soul,  and  dost  thou  not  give  us  thv 
7 


!-l 


98 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I] 
(1, 


M 


, 


«'! 


JJ 


blessing,  and  let  us  go  peaceful  on  this  errand,  I  will 
tell  aloud  in  this  presence  my  dream  of  this  early 
morning  of  thy  leading  men  from  the  sea  up  into  this 
castle  to  murder  and  plunder  thine  own  people."    And 
I  looked  him  straight  in  the  face,  and  plain  as  were 
my  words,  he  read  that  in  mine  eyes  which  showed 
him  clearly  that  I  knew  all,  and  had  him  and  his  schemes 
at  my  tongue's  end.    He  knew  also,  as  I  did,  that  did 
I  reveal  this  dastard  act  of  his  at  this  time,  death 
would  be  but  -  gentle  punishment  to  that  which  he 
would  receive  at  my  lord's  hands;  and  I  have  since 
thought  that  it  was  not  fear  alone  which  gave  me  my 
hold  of  him  in  this  case,  but  a  sense  of  pride  which 
the  man  had,  which,  while  it  allowed  him  to  do  this 
deed  in  secret,  could  not  stand  the  disgrace  of  its  being 
known.    At  any  rate,  he  seemed  as  it  were  to  wilt 
and  shrink  up  into  himself,  then,  thinking  a  moment, 
he  said  in  bitter  tones,  "  Thou  marplot,  thou  seemest 
bom  to  be  my  curse  !  " 

"  Quick,  sirrah,"  I  cried,  "  wilt  thon  do  this,  or  I 
speak  ?  "  and  I  straightened  up  as  i  jry  out  my 

words,  when  he  said  quick  and  low,  "  I  will,  but  thou 
shalt  rue  this  hour  yet."  And  I  knew  that  he  meant 
what  he  said. 

"  Do  it,  and  quickly,"  I  cried,  and  I  went  back  to 
my  place.  During  this  short  discussion  of  ours  the 
earl  had  been  striding  up  and  down. 

"  WeU,  sir  priest  ?  "  he  cried.  But  even  now,  when 
he  had  to  come  down  from  his  defiant  stand,  this  clever 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


99 


man  did  not  seem  to  give  in  to  us,  but  rather  to  make 
us  feel  his  condescension. 

"My  lord  earl,"  he  answered,  "brother  I  call  ye 
not,  all  that  thou  canst  force  from  me  in  mine  office 
as  priest,  I  give  to  thee  as  by  power  of  carnal  strength, 
but  as  man  to  man  I  tell  thee  no  good  can  come  of 
this  matter,  but  seeing  chat  I  have  to  do  mine  office, 
I  fulfil  it  not  of  mine  own  will." 

Then  commanding  us  by  action  of  his  hand  tc  kneel 
down,  we  all  obeyed,  the  wild  earl  and  his  grim  war- 
hardened  followers  kneeling  there  in  good  faith  to 
receive  that  blessing  from  Heaven  which  they  had 
compelled  at  the  hands  of  this  grim  priest  who  blest 
us,  if  bless  he  did,  in  his  polished  Latin  and  cursed 
us  with  his  eyes. 

It  was  a  strange  scene  and  long  remembered  by  me, 
though  one  but  too  common  in  our  age,  when  Church 
and  State  are  both  corrupt,  and  at  constant  strife  with 
each  other  in  struggle  for  that  power  which  they  both 
desire  to  tread  down  and  imprison  the  minds  and  souls 
of  the  common  people. 

During  all  this  time  the  lady  countess  had  bowed 
herself  in  much  grief  and  terror  in  front  of  the  altar 
steps,  in  attitude  of  one  who  looks  on  rather  with  horror 
at  a  sacrilege  than  of  one  who  taketh  part  in  an  act 
'of  blessing.  When  the  words  were  at  last  uttered 
which  gave  us  the  Church's  authority  to  go  on  our 
expedition,  the  grim  earl  rose  up  from  where,  on  one 
knee,  sword  in  hand,  he  had  remained  to  receive,  rather 


1 


100  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

as  a  right  than  a  boon,  the  churchly  assoilage ;  and 
turning  to  his  followers,  cried,  "Now  to  horse,  my  men, 
that  we  may  speed  to  our  work,  and  make  short  shrift 
for  this  foul  usurping  bishop!"  With  that  we  all 
arose  and  poured  forth  from  the  chapel,  and  in  a  short 
time  after  were  riding  fo-th  from  the  castle  waU,  turning 
our  faces  in  grim  battl^-mood  in  the  direction  of  the 
churchly  hold  of  my  Lord  Bishop  of  the  Cattynes. 


ij 


U 


CHAPTER  IX 

'  There  is  &u  height  to  which  hia  soul  aoued  not, 
No  dark  to  which  it  did  not  deep  descend ; 
But  when  loud  battle's  wrack  and  ruin  roared, 
He  made  a  wondrous  end." — Anon. 

Ambition,  worldly  ambition,  thou  sayest ! 

It  filled  his  churchly  heart  till  Death  assoiled  him." 

"  The  Cardinal,"  a  Drama. 


TN  telling  this  tale  of  my  life,  it  hath  been  my  one 
-^  aim  to  keep  direct  to  those  matters  which  led 
up  to  the  gravest  tragedy  of  all,  but  if  memory  tricks 
us  by  false  mirages  of  the  past  we  are  but  mortal. 

It  seemeth  to  me  that  this  life  of  ours  is  but  a  sort 
of  sleep  or  dream,  a  trance  in  which  nature  hath  steeped 
us,  as  men  are  drugged  by  poppy  fumes ;  and  that 
in  this  dream  men  spend  their  whole  existence,  the  play- 
things of  a  few  geniuses,  who,  more  than  the  ordinary, 
are  wide  awake  in  matters  pertaining  to  life,  and  who 
by  their  power  over  others  rule  this  world. 

How  true  this  may  be,  at  no  time  of  my  life  did  I 
seem  more  wide  awake  to  the  affairs  of  this  existence 
than  on  that  night,  when  we  issued  forth  from  the 
gates  of  Gimigoe,  and  yet  when  I  again  entered  those 
same  gates,  it  seemed  th;..t  all  my  life  before  with  its 

101 


102 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


care  and  boyish  sorrow  hnd  been  but  a  foolish  .Jeep 
from  which  I  had  awakened.  ^ 

Many  a  party  of  armsmen  had  ridden  out  from 
those  grim  gates  for  their  own  weal  or  woe.  and  many 
on  as  gnm  a  project,  but  I  doubt  me  if  there  ever  had 
been  so  much  difference  of  opinion  on  the  merits  of 
the  case  m  which  they  fought  as  we  held  then.    But 
whatever  their  thoughts,  they  rode,  or  walked,  or  ran 
as  the  case  was.  under  the  darkness,  as  became  good 
vassals  of  a  gi^at  lord,  content  to  fight  under  his  baLr. 
leaving  to  him  and  his  the  blame  and  scathe,  so  that 
It  went  not  so  far  as  to  ruin  their  own  souls.    Many 
of  them  had  fought  so'  many  feuds,  and  in  so  many 
causes  that  it  mattered  little  who  the  foe  was,  if  there 
were  but  promise  of  booty  and  carousing  at  the  end 
tiiem>f.    Then  so  grim  were  the  punishments  of  traitors 
and  deserters,  that  these  men  would  as  soon  have  defied 
the  King  himself,  as  go  back  from  the  direct  order 
commanded  by  such  .  lord  as  my  father. 

It  was  a  wild  northern  night,  with  some  promise 
of  commg  storm,  as  though  the  very  elements  were 
in  sympathy  with  the  stormy,  turbulent  passions  of 
men.  as  we  wound  along  that  bleak  sea-waste,  keeping 
close  inland  so  that  no  spies  from  the  bishop's  hold 
might  see  us  and  give  the  alarm. 

The  bishop's  castle  or  keep  was  a  great  building. 

much  added  to  of  Ufp     t+  v»a  i,         T  .         * 

ucu  TO  01  late.    It  had  been  at  one  time  the 

tower  of  a  robber-baron,  a  scion  of  our  family,  who 

^  given  my  ancestors  and  the  peaceful  inhabitants 


^  „■ — — 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


103 


mnch  trouble  and  uneasiness,  both  by  sea  and  land, 
until,  so  tradition  said,  he  was  captured  and  burnt  in 
his  own  tower,  to  the  delight  and  relief  of  all  save 
hinoself  and  a  few  turbulent  retainers  who  shared  his 
life  and  death.  This  castle  stood  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  sea,  and  it  suiting  the  bishop's  plans,  he  had 
got  it  granted  for  Church  purposes  on  pretence  of  found- 
ing a  monastery,  and  had  added  to  and  strengthened 
it,  so  as  to  make  it  a  rival  in  some  ways  to  my  father's 
hold,  not  only  annoying  him,  but  making  his  own 
vassals  a  terror  to  our  retainers,  who  dwelt  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Around  this  keep,  in  a  sort  of  glen 
or  strath,  there  had  gradually  grown  a  small  village 
or  group  of  huts  of  the  meaner  sort,  which  were  the 
dwellings  of  the  bishop's  people,  who  like  parasites 
lived  upon  that  to  which  they  were  attached.  To 
reach  the  hold  we  had  to  pass  through  this  village, 
where  we  found  the  dwellings  wrapped  in  repose,  as 
of  those  who  sleep  in  safety,  having  no  fear  of  enemies. 
Now  it  would  have  been  better  for  the  bishop  had 
he  been  more  wary,  and  less  secure  in  his  own  self- 
conceit,  and  that  he  had  held  a  greater  fear  of  mine 
unhappy  father.  In  which  case  he  would  have  been 
on  his  guard.  The  truth  was,  he  had  been  led  through 
intercourse  with  mine  \mcle  to  look  with  a  high  con- 
tempt upon  my  father,  and  to  regard  him  as  one  rather 
fearing  than  to  be  feared.  To  this  might  be  added 
the  great  power  the  Church  believed  itself  to  hold  over 
the  superstitious  minds  of  men,  so  that  it  were  con- 


0: 


i04  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

sidered  eternal  damnation  to  a  man'.  «,ul  to  attack 
the  Church  or  her  vassals,  no  matter  what  the  provoca- 

sloth  hath  been  led  to  see  of  late  that  this  fear  of  her 
groweth  less  and  less,  until  there  be  many  of  us  who 
come  to  think  such  superstitious  ideas  to  be  confined 
to  foobsh  women  and  children  frighted  by  old  monks' 
tales.    As  It  was,  this  midnight  foray  of  ours,  though  it 
struck  at  first  a  shock  of  horror  through  Scotland,  had 
much  to  do  with  killing  the  superstitious  fear  oi  the 
Churchmen  as  a  class  beyond  the  reach  of  carnal  weapon 
and  worldly  pmushment  for  their  sins. 

As  it  happened,  the' proud  bishop,  being  filled  with 
his  own  schemes  of  invading  our  castle,  had  little 
dreamed  that  a  counter  attack  was  so  near  its  execution 

conth  """  ''"^'''  ^^"  '  ""^  ^"  '^'  *'*P  °'  ^^  °^« 
Leaving  our  horses  close  at  hand  in  the  charge  of 
footmen,  who  in  case  of  repulse  were  to  await  iw.  or 
m  case  of  our  being  out-numbered  were  to  secure 
them  and  come  to  our  aid.  the  larger  party  of  us  ap- 

th?t  1  *\\^"^;«*^  ^'  '^^  J^^eP.  which,  owing  I 
the  trust  of  the  bishop  in  his  own  security  as  a  Chim^h- 
man.  was  without  a  drawbridge,  and  was  held  only 
by  a  wooden  gate  or  portcullis  which  was  raised  or 
lowered  at  need.  As  it  happened,  no  enemy  being  ex- 
pected, and  the  men-at-arms  being  otherwise  empZed 
or  more  hkely  asleep,  the  gate  was  left  in  ch^^ge  oi 
a  drowsy  old  sacristan  or  warder,  a  Churchman  himself 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


i"5 


but  of  a  Bort  too 


these 


common 

Church  goeth  no  further  than  the  garb,  and  the  inner 
man  is  but  vassal  to  drunkenness  and  sloth.  This  old 
man  being  stupid  over  his  cups,  heard  not  our  approach, 
and  at  our  demand  for  entrance  to  see  the  lord  bishop 
raised  the  portcullis  ;  then  seeing  us  to  be  so  many,  was  so 
terrorised  at  our  appearance  that  he  incontinently  ran 
screaming  for  help.  It  was  but  an  instant  ere,  w.h  a 
loud  shout  of  triumph  and  hate,  our  party  inva<'  i  the 
castle. 

Now  I  know  not  how  it  was,  whether  the  sight  of 
that  poor,  cowardly  old  priest  or  the  real  sacrilege  of 
the  thing  overcame  me,  or  the  shrieks  and  yells  of  the 
surprised  denizens  of  the  place,  or  that  it  was  the  first 
feeling  that  all  have  on  entering  into  an  act  of  human 
destruction ;   but  my  heart  forsook  me  with  the  will  to 
take  part  in  so  wholesale  a  carnage  as  now  ensued. 
By  this  time  the  bishop's  armsmen  had  assembled 
themselves  and  were  making  a  brave  though  unhappy 
defence  of  the  place.    Hugh,  who  had  been  at  my 
side  when  we  entered,  had  hurried  on  in  the  van  of 
the  attackers,  and  shoved  aside,  as  those  are  who  will 
not  advance,  I  soon  found  myself  in  a  small  alcove  of 
a  sort  of  entrance  where  the  moon  shone  through  in 
the  shape  of  a  cross  on  the  stone  floor.    AU  about  me 
and  in  front  was  forsaken  and  desolate,  for  the  assaulting 
force  had  swept  all  before  it  and  had  disappeared  into 
the  upper  and  inner  rooms  of  the  casUe.    I  could  now 
hear  the  clash  of  arms  and  the  yells  and  curses  of  men 


f 


io6 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


in  mortal  combst,  where  the  onset  wu  all  on  one  side, 

like  to  wolves  who  have  caught  their  prey;    and  on 

the  other  that  grim  fieroeness  of  men  who  fight  in  a 

desperate  case  for  life  itself,  and  sell  it  at  as  dear  a 

price  as  nature  will  afford  them.    All  this  noise  and 

sound  of  battle  sickened  me  into  a  nausea  of  the  whole 

matter,  and  a  horror  that  men  could  do  such  things, 

and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  go  forth  and  have 

naught  to  do  with  work  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  the 

action  of  demons  rather  than  men.    So  I  drew  my 

blade  to  defend  me  did  I  nm  into  an  ambush,  for  through 

all  this  the  sense  of  self -preservation  seemed  to  stay 

with  me,  though  I  feared  naught  for  myself,  for  the 

horror  of  the  whole  business  was  one  which  overcame 

all  other  feeling.    I  left  tht  alcove,  and  was  feeling  my 

way  out  through  the  dark  passage  which  led  to  the 

outer  gate,  when  on  a  sudden  I  heard  a  cry  far  above 

me  in  i  he  centre  of  the  castle,  where  the  fight  seemed 

to  me  to  be  the  dreadest  and  at  its  height.    This  cry 

came  to  me  as  that  of  ««.  child  or  woman,  and  there 

was  somewhat  in  the  sound  as  of  the  voice  of  one  in 

deadly  fear  or  despair,  which  went  to  my  heart  and 

drove  out  all  other  sense  but  that  of  terrible  indignation 

and  pity.    Turning  my  face,  I  retraced  my  steps  inward 

with  all  the  speed  I  might  through  that  dark  and 

gruesome  place  in  the  direction  whence  that  sound 

came,  and  there  was  that  in  my  heart  which  made 

me  feel  that  if  even  the  earl  my  father  or  my  brother 

Hugh  had  stood  in  my  path  betwixt  me  and  that 


-^ 


iffiM-TiM 


7.-1  iV  OF  rrE  ORCADES 


107 


bcweching  voice.  I  bad  cut  my  way  at  the  cx[Hii\^  of 
all,  even  life  itaelf. 

Following  after  that  pitiful  cry  there  had  come  a 
great  yell  ai  of  triumph,  and  then  all  was  still  for  a 
moment,  then  the  notse  of  carnage  seemed  to  revive 
in  otSer  parts  of  the  castle.    Feeling  my  way  under 
stone  archways  and  up  great  stairs  past  dead  or  wounded 
men,  who  groaned  feebly  or  cursed  me  as  I  went,  or 
beseeched  me  for  aid,  I  hurried  along,  wat^:     ^  lest  I 
should  slip  on  the  pavements  wet  with  blood  .n  places 
where  some  life  had  gone  out.    Thus  I  came  at  last  to 
a  great  doorway  through  which  a  light  shone,  and 
stumbling  over  many  dead  bodies  found  myself  in 
what  was  the  great  dining-hall  of  the  place.    It  was 
a  room  long  and  high,  hung  with  great  escutcueons  and 
armour.    At  the  far  end  was  a  huge  fireplace  with  ancient 
arms  carven  in  stone  in  the  wall  above.    Down  the 
middle  ran  a  great  table,  and  at  the  lower  end  near 
where  I  stood,  a  crowd  of  my  father's  men  were  huddled 
together  as  if  in  a  maae.    Some  of  them  were  wounded, 
and  they  aU  were  bloody  and  much  breathed  with  the 
recent  fight.    Here  evidently  at  the  door  the  worst  of 
the  fray  had  been,  for  the  bishop's  men  had  chosen 
this  spot  for  their  last  stand,  and  lay  in  great  heaps 
of  dead  on  the  floor  of  the  passage  and  the  entrance 
to  the  haU.    I  forced  my  way  past  these  men,  who  stood 
sword  and  spear  in  hand  as  if  arrested  and  waiting  for 
some  matter  to  happen,  and  saw  in  front  of  me,  in  a 
sp«ce  below  the  table,  my  father  and  three  of  his  men, 


!!■: 


■  ■  I 

M 


io8 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


1 


J 

J 


their  sworda  wet  with  blood,  while  at  their  feet  lay  the 
body  of  the  Bishop  of  the  Cattynes  clothed  in  armour 
neath  his  churchly  robes,  stretched  prone  in  death, 
and  beyond  the  body,  where  all  could  see  her,  like  some 
proud  animal  at  bay,  stood  a  young  girl  of  fair  and 
noble  beauty,  who  seemed  by  her  attitude  to  be  partly 
beseeching  and  partly  scorning  the  brutal  crowd  who 
stood  before  her.  "Ye  have  committed  foul  crime 
against  Holy  Church,  and  ye  have  slain  my  father, 
evil  men,"  she  cried,  as  I  gained  the  door. 

"His  daughter!  Ho,  ho!  his  daughter;  more  like 
his  leman,"  cried  th6  eari,  his  passion  not  yet  abated 
in  spite  of  the  deed  he  had  done.  "Take  her  away 
or  slay  her." 

"I  dare  ye  to  touch  me,"  she  answered,  but  her 
face  was  like  snow  for  whiteness,  and  she  clung  to  the 
table  for  support,  and  I  saw  that  for  all  her  pride  of 
demeanour  anu  defiance  of  these  terrible  men  she  was 
in  great  inward  terror.    The  men  hesitated,  for  with 
all  their  gross  natures  there  was  somewhat  about  this 
maid  which  made  them  fear  to  touch  her. 
^m"  She  is  yours  !  "  cried  the  eari.    "  Bishop's  leman 
or  bishop's  daughter,  'tis  all  one !  " 
g^I  saw  that  he  was  mad  with  the  fight,  or  he  would 
have  seen  that  it  was  no  common  girl  who  stood  before 
him,  and  he  must  have  clean  forgot  in  his  savage  ferocity 
the  pretended  reason  for  this  whole  assault,  namely,  the 
rescue  of  the  fair  lady  now  before  him.    Also  her  grave 
defiance,  and  her  naming  the  bishop  as  her  father,  had 


iHriifimHlitx 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  109 

angered  and  blinded  him,  so  that  he  did  a  dastard  and 
brutal  thing  in  leaving  her  to  the  will  of  those  evil  men. 
"  Sir,  earl,"  I  cried,  "  stay !  "  but  he  laughed  a  harsh 
laugh  and  turned  to  me. 

"  They  shall  not  have  her,"  I  cried,  striding  forward. 

"  Dost  thou  know " 

Whereat  he  interrupted  me,  "  And  dost  thou  want 
her  also  ?  "  he  scoffed.     "  But  I  forgot,  thou  art  also  a 
power  with  the  Church.    Thou  beginnest  young,  but  thy 
proclivities  are  of  the  right  sort.    Thou  shalt  have  her, 
canst  thou  get  her.    Bishop's  leman  to  priest's  boy  ! " 
and  with  a  scornful  laugh  he  ordered  his  men  out  and 
strode  after,  leaving  us  alone.    I  had  now  time  to  observe 
her  more  closely  as  we  stood  there  in  that  place  of  great- 
ness and  carnage,  the  dead  bishop  lying  betwixt  us,  and  I 
noticed  that  though  she  tried  to  hold  her  bravely  up,  she 
looked  as  though  she  might  swoon.    I  felt  that  we  stood 
in  a  strange  relation,  and  that,  as  the  castle  was  filled 
with  cruel  men  bent  on  spoil  and  pillage,  her  case  was 
a  desperate  one.    As  I  looked  at  her  our  eyes  met, 
hers  at  first  scornful  and  brave  as  of  one  in  ill  case 
and  unyielding,  and  mine  wondering  at  and  pitying 
her  fair  beauty  and  girlish  defencelessness. 

"  Lady,"  I  cried,  "  fear  me  not,  I  will  not  harm 
thee.  But  tell  me  truly  art  thou  not  she  whom  men 
caU  the  Lady  Margaret  Seton,  ward  to  this  same  bishop 
who  now  Ueth  dead  betwixt  us  ?  "  She  looked  at  me 
doubtful,  and  then  seeing  that  I  offered  her  no  hurt, 
said,   "Whoever  thou   art,  who    knoweth    me,  thoii 


iP 


i 

i 


5     ■ 


no 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


'I. 


i 


%i 


art  over  young  yet  for  such  sacrilegious  butchery," 
and  she  tried  to  speak  me  with  scorn,  but  I  noticed 
that  there  was  a  quaver  in  her  voice  that  savoured 
more  of  tears  than  of  pride. 

"  Lady,"  I  answered,  "  think  not  that  this  is  of  my 
will,  though  my  father  hath  good  cause  of  feud,  as  I 
well  know,  against  yon  dead  man." 

"  Then  thou  art  his  son  ? "  she  answered  quickly, 
eyeing  me  with  a  new  scorn,  bom  of  the  knowledge 
of  the  relationship  and  somewhat  else,  as  I  was  soon 
to  learn. 

"  I  would  but  aid  thee,  lady,"  I  cried  eagerly. 

"  Aid  me  ?  "  she  cried.  "  And  'tis  thy  fool  ambition 
for  a  girl's  hand  that  hath  caused  all  this  ill  and  death. 
Aid  me,  sir?  Thou  hast  caused  trouble  enough. 
Thou  art  but  a  sad  and  an  evil  wooer." 

"I  know  not  what  you  say,  lady,"  I  cried.  "I 
never  heard  of  thee  but  twice  before,  and  am  here  but 
to  save  thy  life." 

"  My  life,  such  as  it  is,  is  in  God's  hands,"  she  answered. 

"Se  it  were,  my  lady,  but  a  moment  since,  when 
save  for  mine  intervention  thou  hadst  had  an  ill  fate," 
I  answered,  for  it  angered  me  to  have  her  scorn  and 
doubt  me.  Then  I  continued,  "Why  didst  thou  call 
thyself  iiis  daughter  ? "  and  I  pointed  to  the  bishop's 
body. 

"He  was  as  a  father  to  me,"  she  answered,  "and 
all  such  that  I  have  known  in  this  world." 

"  Thou  wilt  have  a  friend  in  me,  lady,  wilt  thou  but 


}> 


1: 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  m 

come  with  me,"  I  said  quickly,  for  I  heard  men  coming 
our  way,  and  was  afraid  for  her  did  she  stay  in  this 
place,  and  I  was  also  not  sure  what  my  father  might 
do  did  his  mood  change. 

"  With  you,  sir  ?  Wherefore  should  I  go  with  you, 
sir  ?  And  yet  I  know  .ot  what  to  do  except  to  die' 
Oh,  sir,  if  you  would  but  lead  me  somewhere  where  a  good 
woman  were,  for  I  am  a  poor  girl" 

"Lady,"  I  cried,  "canst  thou  not  believe  me  that 
I  would  only  protect  thee.    I  came  with  this  party 
but  had  naught  to  do  with  the  slaughter,  for  I  have 
a  honor  of  all  this."  I  cried.    "  See  my  sword,  it  hath 
tasted  no  man's  blood." 

"  Then  thou  art  no  warrior  and  but  a  poor  protec- 
tion," she  cried. 

"Nay  but.  lady,  as  I  was  going  out  in  hate  of  it 
aU  I  heard  thy  cry  for  help,  and  I  could  not  but  come  " 

"Thou  heardest  me  cry?"  she  answered;  "the 
cowards !  They  said  he  was  an  iU  man,  but  he  was 
good  to  me." 

"Yet  I  tell  you  straight,"  I  answered,  "that  for 
all  that  he  well  deserved  his  fate." 

"  Sir !  "  she  cried. 

"Yes,  lady,"  I  answered;  "but  he  is  dead,  and 
thou  art  in  danger.  Let  me  take  thee  to  a  place  of 
succour." 

"I  know  thee  not,"  she  answered;  "thou  lookest 
honest  and  kind.    But  where  wouldst  thou  take  me  ?  " 
"  To  Castle  Gimigoe,"  I  answered. 


mti^Kmm-- 


112 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


*,;•  ! 


I 


"  Dread  Heaven ! "  she  cried,  "  not  to  the  place 
of  the  lord  who  hath  slain  him." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  I  cried.  "  His  countess  is  a 
good  and  pious  lady,  withal  somewhat  proud  as  thou 
art,  but  a  great  woman  and  a  good  guardian  for  such 
as  thee." 

"  Am  I  never  to  be  mine  own  mistress  ?  "  she  said, 
and  the  tears  coursed  down  her  pallid  cheeks. 

"  Wilt  thou  come  ?  "  I  cried,  for  I  feared  to  stay ' 
longer. 

"  An  thou  art  twe  to  me,"  she  cried,  "  an 
wilt  be  my  friend,  I  needs  must,  but  ere  I  go  wilt  thou 
promise  that  he  shall  have  decent  burial  ?  " 

"  Though  he  were  a  bad  man,  my  lady,"  I  answered, 
"yet  because  he  was  friend  to  thee  he  shall  have 
decent  burial,  as  becometh  a  Churchman."  Then 
she  knelt  by  his  side,  folded  his  hands  and  kissed  his 
brow,  and  I  marvelled  at  the  presence  of  mind  of  this 
young  girl,  so  slight  of  body  and  so  delicately  nurtured, 
having  the  spirit  to  hover  over  this  dead  man  who 
little  merited  all  the  love  and  reverence  she  paid  him. 

Just  as  she  knelt  there  I  heard  a  soimd  behind  me, 
and  turning  saw  a  big  man-at-arms  of  our  castle,  one 
of  the  earl's  braggarts,  who  was  feared  bv  many,  and 
whom  I  hated  and  dreaded  above  all  the  castle  servants. 
He  came  rushing  in  with  his  sword  drawn,  having  no 
doubt  stayed  behind  in  search  of  plunder.  So  soon 
as  he  saw  me  and  the  lady  he  rushed  forward  and 
would  have  seized  her,  when  I  sprang  at  him. 


tAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  113 

"Stand  aside,  my  cockerel,"  he  cried,  "and  let 
men  have  their  spoils,"  and  he  glowered  at  me.  "  Come, 
my  fair  maid,"  he  said,  "  give  me  those  jewels  that  thoj 
wearest,  and  a  kiss  of  thy  lady  lips.  The  good  bishop 
is  dead,  he  will  need  them  no  longer." 

At  these  words,  spoken  by  this  rude  man  in  her 
presence,  and  to  her,  there  came  over  me  somewhat 
of  that  i.  ing  of  power  and  command  which  I  had 
had  even  as  a  child,  but  now  as  a  more  manly  impulse. 

"  Touch  her  an  thou  art  a  dead  man !  "  I  cried, 
while  the  poor  lady  rose  from  where  she  knelt,  and 
shrank  over  by  the  table,  with  a  wild  horror  on  her 
face. 

"  Ho,  ho !  and  thou  wouldst  have  her,  my  sprouting, 

left-handed  lord,"  he  cried,  and  he  laughed  in  my  face! 

But  the  man  was  a  fool  when  he  offered  that  insult  to 

me.    I  had  been  man  enough  even  for  him,  great 

hulking  swordsman  as  he  was,  for  I  had  determined 

to  die  ere  he  should  harm  her,  but  at  this  brutal  affront 

from  his  base  Ups,  and  in  her  presence,  all  seemed  to 

leap  into  fire  in  my  brain.    There  came  a  mist  before 

mine  eyes,  and  I  had  but  one  impulse,  to  slay.    My 

sword  seemed  to  leap  in  my  hand  ;  and  when  I  came 

out  of  the  mist,  there  lay  the  base  brute  dead,  his  head 

split  open,  the  bloody  sword  still  in  my  hand,  and  the 

maid  in  a  dead  faint  beside  me.    Then  all  seemed  to 

come  back  to  my  mind,  and  with  it  a  new  sense,  that 

I  was  a  lad  no  longer,  with  a  boy's  far-off  fears  now 

dead  and  gone,  but  was  now  a  man  with  a  man's  stremrth  • 
8 


114 


JAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


V. 


and  a  lover,  for  had  I  not  slain  my  first  foeman,  and 

that  to  save  her  whose  safety  seemed  to  be  the  one 

thing  in  the  world  to  live  for.    Sheathing  my  sword 

with  a  fierce  joy,  I  lifted. her  in  mine  arms  and  bore 

her  forth,  deathlike  as  she  was,  with  a  dread  fear  in  my 

heart  that  her  eyes  would  never  open  again.    With  her 

in  my  arms  I  strode  down  those  dread  stairs,  past 

those  dead  men  and  all  that  rack  and  ruin  of  midnight 

battle,  with  the  river  of  Ufe  in  my  soul,  and  after  some 

missing  of  my  way  and  stumbling  came  to  where  the 

man  was  who   kept  my   horse.    Soon   I  was  riding 

through   the   murky  night  with   that   loved  burden 

toward    Gimigoe    Castle.    There    dismounting   at   its 

gates,  I  bore  her  in,  and  laid  her,  still  in  her  faint, 

with  much  reverence  at  the  feet  of  the  lady  countess. 


<■) 


CHAPTER  X 

rjlHE  assault  of   the   hold  and  the  murder  of  the 
-L     Bishop  of  the  Cattynes  resulted  in  much  ill  to 
many  at  Castle  Girnigoe.    Of  the  lord  earl,  men  said 
the  doom  of  hia  house  began  at  that  time;  and  in 
truth  the  worst  that  hath  come  to  us  since  took  its 
rise  from  that  deed.    Some  considered  the  earl  not 
to  be  in  his  right  wits  afterward.    How  true  this  may 
be,  I,  who  am  not  over-superstitious,  have  thought  that 
the  over-indulgence  of  a  mastering  passion  of  revenge 
or  hate  may  produce  a  madness  in  the  mind,  and  certain 
it  is  some  such  fate  overtook  my  misguided  father. 
The  castle  people,  however,  charged  his  illness  to  the 
dread  curse  that  the  bishop  had  laid  on  him  ere  he 
died,  for  it  was  told  me  afterward  how  that  singular 
man  made  his  end.    It  seemed  that,  taken  sudden  in 
his   self-confidence,    he   retreated   to   his   dining-hall, 
his  faithful  men-at-arms  defending  the  entrance  thereof 
unto  their  death.    Then  my  father  entering,  sword 
in  hand,  and  a  look  of  relentless  hate  on  his  face,  the 
trapped  bishop  first  pleaded  for  his  Ufe,  then  s^ing 
that  he  spoke  to  no  account,  drew  himself  up,  stood 
on  his  churchly  authority,  and,  cursing  the  eari  and 


n6 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


all  hia  with  curses  such  as  only  Churchmen  can  coin 
and  use,  met  his  death  like  a  man.    But  a  worse  ill 
came  to  my  father  in  the  horror  of  his  deed  that  went 
throughout  the  north,  alienating  from  him  many  who 
formerly  were  his  allies  in  common  cause  against  the 
encroachments  of  the  Church,  but  who  now  regarded 
his  act  as  one  of  direct  sacrilege  too  great  to  be  condoned. 
The  greater  danger  and  menace  to  the  earl  was  to 
come,  however,  from  the  grim  hate  of  his  cousin  Albany, 
whose  agent  and  friend  the  bishop  was;  and  had  it 
not  been  that  this  prince's  policy  was  rather  to  lie  in 
wait  for  his  enemy,  be  would  instantly  have  brought 
an  army  into  the  north  and  have  burnt  my  father  out 
of  his  hold,  so  greatly  was  he  incensed  when  he  heard 
of  the   bishop's   death.    There  was,   however,   much 
other  care  and  sorrow  in  the  fated  walls  of  Gimigoe 
as  the  result  of  that  evil  sortie,  the  effects  of  which 
were  felt  during  the  week  following,  and  to  some  many 
a  day  after.    For  there  were  some  dead,  and  many  of 
our  men  wounded,  among  the  latter  being  Hugh,  who 
in  hia  impetuous  spirit,  having  not  a  little  of  the  earl's 
character,  which  became  from  this  out  more  apparent, 
would  be  at  the  head  and  thick  of  the  attack,  where 
older  and  stouter  men  than  he  went  down.    Being 
also  eager  to  rescue  her,  whom  by  a  strange  fate  it 
came  to  be  mine,  the  laggard's,  lot  to  have  to  serve, 
he  was  hewn  down  by  a  sword-stroke  and  buried  under 
a  heap  of  dead  and  woimded.    Being  found  afterward, 
he  was  brought  to  the  castle  a  little  later  than  I  had 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  117 

reached  there  with  the  lady  of  his  romantic  quest. 
That  he  was  not  mortally  wounded  was  owing  to  his 
having  been  buried  under  the  others,  and  to  the  sword 
having  missed  its  sure  stroke ;  so,  with  his  youth  and 
vigour,  it  was  not  long  ere  he  was  up  and  about,  as 
reckless  and  impetuous  as  ever. 

The  condition  of  her,  however,  who  was  to  make 
that  castle  for  ever  after  a  happier  place  for  me  was  my 
chief  thought.  But  beyond  the  terrible  ordeal,  such 
as  many  a  lady  of  quality  in  our  times  hath  been  fated 
to  undergo,  she  was  without  scathe,  and  grew  in  time 
to  forget  the  horror. 

I  will  keep  to  the  day  of  my  death  the  memory  of 
that  night's  ride,  with  her  in  mine  arms,  along  the 
murk  of  the  sea-beach  to  the  castle  of  Gimigoe.  How 
I  was  given  strength  to  do  what  I  did  that  night  is 
not  for  me  to  understand,  save  that  some  souls  ordinarily 
weak  have  their  supreme  moments,  when  the  spirit 
so  conquers  the  flesh  that  the  will  is  all-masterful.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  saw  naught  but  that  sweet  pale 
face,  which  might  never  put  on  life  again.  Thus  in 
this  elated  dream  of  action  I  bore  her  into  the  castle 
hall,  where  the  lady  countess  stood,  with  one  thought 
in  tb    world,  her  son  Hugh. 

"Hugh,  is  it  thou?  Thank  Heaven!"  she  cried, 
and  this  cold,  haughty  woman  started  forward  in 
mother  gladness,  for  she  thought  it  was  her  son.  We 
were  aUke,  and  in  this  new  mood  of  mine  we  were 
perchance  more  so  in  her  eyes,  and  she  was  deceived. 


xi8 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  Nay,"  cried  I,  "it i«  I." 

"Thou!  only  thou!  and  where  is  mj  son,  my 
Hugh  ?  "  she  cried  with  a  bitter  ciy.  But  I  laid  the 
lady  at  her  feet,  and  said,  "Madam,  quick,  save  this 
lady  ere  she  be  dead !  »  But  she  only  turned  on  me 
in  hate  and  scorn. 

"Thou!  only  thou!"  she  cried.  "Thou  traitor! 
thou  hast  brought  the  lady,  and  my  son  is  dead  !  " 

"Madam!"  I  cried,  for  her  selfish  mother-love 
jarred  on  me,  while  the  young  girl  lay  there  so  cold,  in 
what  might  be  death,  "hast  thou  no  feeling?  See, 
she  is  senseless.  Canst,  thou  not  pity  her,  the  victim 
of  all  this  horror  ?  They  murdered  the  bishop  bifore 
her  eyes ! " 

"  How  now ! "  she  cried.  "  The  bishop  dead  ?  Oh, 
my  husband  !  Oh,  dread  Heaven !  Then  Hugh  also 
is  dead  !  'Tis  the  curse  !  "  Then  she  turned  on  me. 
"And  thou?  Didst  thou  dare  Uve  ? "  And  so 
great  was  her  anger  I  thought  she  would  have  struck 
me;  but  I  forgot  her  rank,  and  cried  sternly,  "Thy 
son  is  not  dead,  madam ;  quick,  thy  women !  or  this 

girl  will  be "  and  I  knelt  at  the  maid's  side,  but 

the  lady  countess  put  me  away.  "Begone!"  she 
cried,  "  thou  art  not  worthy,  thou  supplanter,  thou 
Jacob !— dost  thou  think  she  is  for  such  as  thee  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  I  answered,  "  I  have  but  saved  her  life, 
and  thou  wilt  lose  it  again." 

"  She  hath  no  ill,"  she  answered ;  "  'tis  but  a  swoon ; 
see,  she  cometh  to  now ;  but  my  son,  oh  !  my  son  ! " 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


119 


At  this  the  Lady  Margaret  began  to  revive,  and 
opened  her  eyes,  to  my  happiness  and  pleasure  to 
see  those  lights  of  my  heaven  appear  again.  But 
they  wandered  in  sad  amaze,  and  she  moaned  piteously. 
Then  she  tried  to  gather  herself  together  and  to  stand 
up. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  she  cried.  Then  sne  remembered, 
and  looked  at  me  and  at  the  lady  countess.  Then 
she  said,  "  Sir,  thou  didst  save  my  life." 

"Lady!"  I  cried,  "this  is  the  Countess  of  the 
Cattynes.  Theu  she  turned  to  the  lady  countess, 
and  said,  "  Oh,  madam,  wilt  thou  protect  me  ?  " 

"Thou  need'st  no  protection  in  Castle  Gimigoe," 
cried  the  lady  countess ;  "  thou  art  safe  here.  My 
lord  and  my  son  make  no  war  on  women." 

"Yea,"  answered  the  Lady  Margaret,  "this  thy 
son  did  save  me,"  and  she  put  her  hands  to  her  face, 
as  though  to  hide  the  remembrance  of  what  she  had 
seen.  Then  the  lady  countess  showed  her  hate  and 
scorn  of  me. 

"  This  is  no  son  of  mine,"  she  cried,  "  but  a  vassal. 
Did  he  save  thee,  lady,  he  did  but  what  his  mean  life 
was  made  for,  as  servant  to  this  house." 

"Not  thy  son?  Not  thy  son?"  cried  the  Lady 
Margaret.  Then  she  looked  at  me  in  amazement. 
But  she  read  in  my  face  what  checked  her  further 
speech,  and  she  turned  to  the  countess,  and  said, 
"  Madam,  I  am  iU." 

"  Quick  !  "  cried  the  countess  to  her  women,  "  wine  ! 


120  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

The  latly  is  indisposed."  And  the  wino  was  brought. 
Then  I  knew  that  I  was  not  wanted  there,  and  turned 
■adly  and  reluctantly  to  go. 

"  Sir  f  "  cried  the  young  lady,  "  let  me  thank  you." 
Just  then  a  man-at-arms  entered. 

"  My  lady  countess !  "  he  cried,  "  God  save  you— 
here  cometh  the  Lord  Hugh,  who  hath  been  grievously 
wounded  !  " 

"My  son!  Great  Heaven!"  cried  the  lady 
countess.  "  »Tis  the  judgment  of  Heaven!"  Then 
■he  turned  to  the  young  girl  nd  cried  fiercely,  "And 
'tis  for  thee,  for  thee,  ^e  hath  suffered  this !  I  could 
hate  thee  for  this  !  " 

"  Madam,"  cried  the  girl,  "  I  am  innocent  in  this 
matter!" 

"  Nay,  but  thou  art  cause  of  all,"  cried  the  lady 
countess;  "'tis  for  thee  that  all  this  great  sin  was 
committed  ;  for  thee  that  the  good  lord  bishop  lieth 
dead,  and  that  my  son  is  all  but  dead." 

But  the  poor  giri  only  moaned,  "  I  am  innocent ! 
I  am  mnocent !  "  Whereat  I  could  not  see  her  suffer 
and  I  cried,  "  My  lady,  this  is  not  so !  I  know  some- 
what of  this  matter.  'Twas  an  old  hate  betwixt  the 
lord  bishop  and  the  eari  which  hath  caused  aU  this, 
not  yon  innocent  girl." 

But  the  lady  countess  turned  on  me  in  contempt 
"Thou!  thou!"  she  cried.  "What  dost  thou  here 
without  my  bidding  ?  When  I  send  for  thee,  then 
mayest  thou  come.    Thy  duty  was  but  to  serve  my 


V 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  121 

■on;  and  whilst  thou  wert  about  thine  own  affairs 
he  hath  come  by  this  hurt !  "    The  young  girl  turned 
from  her  to  me  in  mute  wonder ;  and,  as  I  thought, 
with  a  sort  of  scorn  in  her  eyes  that  I  could  not  brook! 
.  "  She  seeth  my  shame,"  I  cried  to  myself,  and  had  it 
been  a  man  who  had  brought  this  dishonour  on  me  in 
her  presence,  and  not  the  lady  countess,  I  had  an- 
swered ;  but  she  was  a  lady,  and  I  felt  in  my  heart  that 
for  many  reasons  I  had  no  right  there  now  that  my 
work  was  done.    So  I  hung  my  head,  and  in  shame 
and  sorrow  took  my  departure.     I  know  not  how  I 
got  to  the  door.    The  whole  world  seemed  to  gloom 
down  on  me,  but  I  felt  my  way  to  the  lintel.    Then  it 
was  that  my  overmatched  strength  found  its  end; 
for  it  liad  been  a  part  of  mine  exaltation  which  had 
given  me  power  to  slay  that  man  and  to  save  her, 
and  when  that  and  my  hope  went  out,  my  strength 
was  gone  also.    I  got  me  out  of  the  doorway,  and  just 
as  I  felt  I  had  lost  her  for  ever  I  came  face  to  face  with 
mine  uncle  Angus. 

"  Well,  my  mighty  fool-slayer  and  saver  of  maidens  !  " 
he  cried  in  his  sardonic  manner.  Then  the  castle 
spun  round  and  all  was  dark. 


I 

•I 

I 


I 


!V 


k 


CHAPTER  XI 


/ 


TT  was    many  hours   before    I  was    myself  again, 

but  youth  outlives  the  greatest  ills  that  attack 

body  and  soul,  when  time  is  young  and  the  roads  of 

life  ahead.    Though  I  awoke  to  rememlrance  of  the 

lady  countess's  scorn  aid  insult,  and  to  the  fact  that 

a  great  gulf  of  station  and  power  lay  betwixt  the  King's 

ward  and  a  poor  outcast  youth  of  no  wealth  and  of 

but  doubtful  origin,  yet  I  could  not  but  dream  of  her 

whom  I  had  been  fated  to  save  from  ill  scathe  and 

perchance    death,    and   N'^hose    presence    now   stayed 

with  me  sleeping  or  waking.    Thus  it  was  that  I,  fan, 

the  outcast,  scorned  and  ill-treated,  arose  from  my 

bed  with  a  new  lease  of  Ufe,  and,  it  must  be  admitted, 

with  but  vague  dreams  of  the  future.    For  I  was  a 

fool,  as  the  young  ever  are,  and  would  not  look  the 

hard  fact  of  the  hopelessness  of  my  love  in  the  face. 

I  was  soon,  however,  to  be  disenchanted,  and  brought  to 

a  true  sense  of  the  world  of  distance  that  separated  my 

existence  and  hers.    The  one  to  do  this  was  the  man  I 

feared  and  hated  more  than  ever,  now  that  I  had  foiled 

his  ill  schemes,  and  had  dared  force  his  hand  at  a 

time  when  he  could  ill  brook  to  relinquish  his  vengeance. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCALlS  t-  . 

He  read  me  like  a  book  in  this  my  iovo  dream  ;   '-.jt 
though  I  had  not  spoken  to  him  since,  yet  my'  act 
of  saving  the  Lady  Margaret,  and  how  I  had  ridden 
through  the  night  with  her  and  brought  her  half  dead 
to  the  lady  countess,  were  the  talk  of  the  castle.    She 
herself  had  also  told  of  how  I  had  slain  the  serving- 
man,  she  not  knowing  who  he  was,  except  that  he  was 
a  great  brutal  man  and  one  to  be  feared.    Now  this 
man  had  been  an  important  person  in  his  place  about 
the  castle,  though  not  having  many  friends  on  account 
of  his  overbearing  manners.    But  when  a  man  is  dead, 
folk  often  forget  his  iU-deeds  and  remember  his  virtues] 
or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  imagine  some  for  him,  often 
canonising  a  veritable  scamp  into  some  sort  of  remem- 
brance  and   even   veneration.    So  it   was   with   this 
feUow,  and  though  I  was  more  respected  for  my  physical 
prowess  in  sending  him  to  his  account,  yet  there  were 
some,  and  they  had  their  sympathisers,  who  muttered 
at  my  act,  seeing  that  it  was  known  that  I  had  not 
gone  wilfully  into  the  attack  upon  their  foes,  but  had 
had  the  temerity  to  slay  one  of  their  own  comrades. 
To  this  was  added  a  sort  of  disagreeable  surprise  that 
one  who  had  showu  so  Uttle  liking  for  the  practice  of 
arms  should  exhibit  such  proficiency  as  to  overpower 
one  of  the  greate3t  braggarts  in  the  eari's  train.    All 
this  caused  me  to  be  avoided  even  more  than  of  old ; 
yet  there  were  not  wanting  some  who  were  my  friends, 
both  through  pity  for  my  position,  which  vas  known 
nder  the  rose,  as  it  were,  to  be  a  false  and  unjust  one 


V 


124  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

and  also  because  of  mine  act  of  daring  and  humanity 
in  saving  the  young  lady  and  ridding  the  castle  of  a 
brute  who  was  a  good  riddance. 

Among  these  latter  was  the  castle  armourer,  a  bluff, 
hearty  man  of  a  good  presence  and  an  honest,  open 
nature.    He  came  of  a  race  of  armourers  and  smiths 
and  loved  his  craft,  as  one  should  who  values  the  making 
of  a  fine  blade  and  a  solid  shield  to  withstand  it.    Now 
it  had  been  my  habit  often  when  lonely  to  go  into  his 
smithy,  a  sort  of  cell  in  a  lower  corner  of  the  castle,  and 
to  watch  him  as  he  worked  at  his  forge,  wielding  with 
one  arm  his  massive  hammer,  which  he  used  so  dexter- 
ously as  to  temper  the  keenest  edge  of  a  blade,  and 
yet  with  the  same  to  strike  a  blow  that  would  nave 
felled  an  ox.    At  times  he  would  teach  me  some  of 
the  secrets  of  the  skill  of  his  craft,  and  I  even  came 
to  handle  the  hammer  and  to  work  mth  his  tools  in  a 
small  way  myself.    The  sword  with  which  I  had  slain 
the  armsman  had  been  fashioned  for  me  by  the  good 
smith  himself,  and  he  was  proud  to  think  that  I  had 
made  such  good  use  of  it,  and  had  been  so  apt  a  pupil. 
For  he  was  in  addition  somewhat  of  a  swordsman, 
skilled  in  the  use  of  weapons,  especially  the  broad- 
sword or  claymore,  used  with  the  two  hands,  and  he  had 
had  much  doubt  as  to  my  power  ever  to  become  very 
proficient  in  the  art  of  war. 

Thus  were  the  castle  people  divided  into  two  factions, 
for  and  against  me,  of  whom  the  greater  part  wer^ 
against,  as  the  lady  countess's  strong  dishke  for  me 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  125 

was  weU  known,  and  acted  in  my  disfavour  with  the 
most  of  them,  as  it  ever  doth  where  underUngs  love 
or  hate,  praise  or  dispraise,  as  their  superiors  show 
the  example. 

Now  mine  uncle,  like  the  deep  spirit  he  was,  saw 
all  this  at  a  glance,  and  used  it  against  me  to  my  face 
and  behind  my  back,  not  by  any  word  he  said,  for  he 
was  a  silent  man,  but  he  had  a  way  more  certain  and 
powerful  than  words  by  which  to  convey  his  meaning, 
or  extract  knowledge  through  those  channels  which  his 
ghostly  character  gave  him.  Therefore,  tliough  he 
had  had  no  intercourse  with  me,  yet  he  was  as  well 
aware  of  my  feelings  toward  the  Lady  Margaret,  and 
as  deeply  cognisant  of  my  unhappy  position,  as  I  was 
myself. 

It  was  on  the  day  after  that  he  paid  me  a  visit  in 

my  room,  where  I  was  musing  betwixt  a  half-dream 

of  fancied   hope    and  a  despair  of   mine   unmended 

fortunes.    I  would  rather  have  had  his  room  than  his 

company,  and  I  was  not  slow  to  et  him  see  that  I  was 

of  this  mind,  for  in  the  mood  in  which  I  then  was, 

mine  own  thoughts,  or  rather  fancies,  were  my  most 

welcome  counsellors,  and   I   dreaded   that   this   cold, 

lU-thinking  man  should  probe  my  secret  and  make 

sport  in  his  polished  cynic  manner  of  what  I  felt  so 

deeply.    So  I  said  naught,  and  waited  with  some  cold 

impatience  for  him  to  explain  his  reason  for  intrusion, 

which  he  must  know  would  be  most  unwelcome. 

But,  as  I  have  shown,  he  was  not  one  to  stop  at 


126  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

trifles,  or  to  waver  for  scruples  of  pride  where  his 
schemes  led  him,  so  he  took  but  scant  notice  of  my 
lack  of  warmth,  and  treated  me  as  one  would  a  spoUt 
child.  '^ 

"Well,  my  martial  hero,  and  rescuer  of  maidens," 
he  said.  "  'Tis  a  good  and  meet  beginning  thou  halt 
made  for  a  future  son  of  Holy  Church  !  »  Now  I  Uked 
not  this,  his  taking  for  granted,  what  he  knew  I  dis- 
owned and  hated,  namely,  that  I  was  set  apart  for 
Orders. 

"I  am  no  Churchman,  as  thou  weU  knowest."  I 
answered  in  sullen  mariner. 

"And  is  it  thus  that  thou  rewardest  my  faithful 
clerkship,  thou  runagate  !  »  he  said.  "  I  will' yet  show 
thee  thy  proper  path  as  thy  best  friend." 

But  I  was  determined  to  have  done  with  this  dream 
of  his  for  ever,  and  to  show  him  the  folly  of  his  hope 
so  I  said  roughly —  * 

"  I  would  have  thee  know  that  thou  art  either  mad 
or  worse,  to  think  that  I  am  incUned  for  Orders  I 
have  neither  love  nor  ambition  toward  that  vocation 
which  thou  fillest  so  bravely,"  I  said  scornfully. 

"Boy,"  he  answered,  with  that  quiet,  maddening  smile 
of  his,  "  'tis  thine  only  path  in  life.  Thou  must  walk 
it,  will  or  nil !  " 

"Thou  liest!"  I  cried  in  petulance.  "There  be 
other  paths  in  hfe." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "there  are  others,  such  as 
armourer's  apprentice  men,  or  as  follower  of  such  as 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


127 


thou  slowest ;  but  thy  pride  will  not  take  them."  And 
he  looked  at  me  as  a  spider  might  look  at  a  poor  foolish 
fly,  buzzing  on  the  edge  of  its  web. 

"  Thou  devil !  "  I  cried.  "  Why  dost  thou  come 
with  dark  counsel  and  ill-looks  to  haunt  me  with  thy 
sneers  and  pretended  pity,  when  I  know  thee  so  well. 
Could  I  not  open  up  thy  deviltry  to  the  whole  castle, 
even  to  my  lord  eari,  and  ruin  thee  for  ever  ?  "^    . 

"Yea,"  thou  couldst,  he  answered,  "even  to  niy 
lord  earl,  thy  loving  father !  "  and  he  sneered  as  he 
said  it.  "  But  thou  wilt  not.  I  know  thee  too  well 
for  to  fear  thee,"  and  he  laughed  in  my  face,  that  light 
easy  laugh  of  one  who  is  master.  "  For,"  he  continued, 
"  with  all  thy  hate  of  me,  and  of  my  schemes,  thou 
lovest  thine  uncle  just  enough,  and  thy  house  a  little 
more,  so  as  to  keep  thy  tongue  quiet  in  thy  head." 

"  Then  why  dost  thou  not  leave  me  to  myself  ?  "  I 
cried,for  I  had  other  thoughts  and  wearied  of  his  presence. 
For  a  moment  he  went  dark  in  the  face,  and  was 
near  to  losing  his  wonted  composure ;  for  his  pride 
was  greater  than  even  mine  own,  but  he  conquered 
himself  and  said  sternly,  "Thou  fool,  for  fool  thou 
art,  know  that  I,  even  thine  ill  uncle,  hath  a  certain 
love  for  thee  ;  and  that  thou  hast  some  grain  of  talent 
which  might  make  thee  worthy  of  that  greatness  which 
I  have  in  store  for  thee." 

"  And  what  might  that  be  ?  "  I  questioned,  just  to 
sound  him. 

"Even  a.s  a  prince  of  the  Church,  thou  ingrate," 


f' 


/■ 


(- 


128 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


J     i 


he  answered,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  a  sincere  dream  he 
had.  But  I  had  no  mind  for  his  ambitions,  and  I 
answered,  "Sir  priest,  I  have  neither  the  gift  nor 
the  spirit  for  so  lofty  a  place,  But  why,  if  thou  lovest 
such  things,  dost  thou  not,  who  art  fit  even  as  I  could 
never  be,  aspire  to  such  a  position  thyself.  There  is 
thip  same  bishopric  of  the  Cattynes  even  now  vacant. 
Wert  thou  not  the  chosen  friend  and  confidant,  as  I 
well  know,  of  that  present  martyr  and  late  prince  of 
the  Church  ./ho  hath  departed  ?  and  why  dost  thou 
not,  if  thou  hast  such  power  to  set  a  poor  lad  as  I  am 
in  such  place,  set  thyself  there,  who  art  the  more 
worthy  to  fill  it  ?  "  Now  this  wa.  a  long  speech,  but 
I  fancied  though  he  hearkened  to  me  with  patience 
that  I  had  hit  him  in  a  sore  part  of  his  pride  or  secret 
ambition,  and  I  also  noticed  that  he  found  it  hard  to 
give  me  a  fair  reply. 

"  'Tis  a  difficult  matter,"  he  said,  with  more  of  hesi- 
tation than  he  had  yet  used. 

"  And  why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  There  are  other  considerations,"  he  replied,  with 
his  eyes  down. 

"  Ajid  may  I  ask,"  I  cried,  looking  him  hard  in  the 
face,  "  what  be  those  remarkable  considerations  which 
make  it  so  fit  for  a  poor  youth  such  as  I  am  to  fill  a 
great  position  for  which  thou  art  not  available  ?  " 

"  I  may  not  answer  thee  in  the  matter,  thou  couldst 
not  understand,"  he  said. 

"Nay,"   I    cried,   "thou  wouldst    treat    me  as  a 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  129 

child,  with  thy  cunning  contriving  Clurch  ways.  Thou 
woiddat  fain  father  me  for  ever.  Now  I  tell  thee 
straight,  I  have  no  love  for  thy  schemes  such  as  they 
are,  and  less  love  for  Mother  Church's  preferments. 
I  would  have  thee  understand  that  I  am  no  more  a 
boy,  but  a  man,  with  a  man's  love  of  freedom,  and  a 
desire  to  carve  mine  own  way  in  the  world.  So  hence- 
forth  I  would  have  thee  know." 

"  And  that  thou  scomest  my  counsel  and  friendship  ?  " 
he  returned  fiercely. 

"  Yea,  if  you  will,"  I  cried. 

I  now  thought  he  would  even  have  offered  me  violence 
had  he  dared,  for  the  man  had  no  Umit  to  his  passions, 
but  to  my  amazement  he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  my 
couch  and  cahnly  spoke,  marking  his  heads  of  debate 
on  his  fingers  in  mock  importance,  as  if  deriding  me. 

"And  this  young  springald,"  he  said,  "  hath  out- 
grown his  pen-feathers.    Being  tutored  by  his   poor 
faithful  uncle  for  the  vocation  of  Orders,  he  hath  become 
proficient  as  a  clerk.    But  having  invaded  a  monastery 
at  the  murdering  of  a  bishop,  he  hath  slain  a  man 
and  rescued  a  maiden,  which  matters  have  done  more 
to  hasten  his  manhood  than  all  mine  ill-training  could 
Have  I  not  been  his  one  friend  in  this  castle  ?    Have 
I  not  nursed  him,  tutored  him,  and  all  for  naught  ? 
Tis  a  world  of  ingratitude,  where  fools  forget  their 
benefits." 

"  Sir  priest,"  I  cried  at  this.  "  have  you  ended  this 
mummery  ?    I  would  be  alone." 
9 


.  ,^HP!P^^WW^^f*?'^'siip^ 


iiiiiiiiiittiiiiMi 


-^a>fe^.IA^<£,-;5^. 


130 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  How  now ! "  he  cried.    "  You !  you !  to  me  !    Nay, 

I  have  not  done,  thou  fool ;    I  have  just  begun."    And 

he  stood  up  and  paced  the  floor.    "  Thou  hast  scorned 

me,  thine  only  friend  in  this  cursed  castle,  who  brought 

thee  here,  stood  thine  insults,  tutored  thee,  saved  thy 

life,  and  thou  scomest  my  aid  to  the  one  preferment 

thou  canst  gain  in  this  world.     Thou !  without  position 

or  name.    Thou  dost  this,  and  why  ?    Because  thou  art 

a  fool,  and  hast  caught  sight  of  a  fair  face  of  a  young 

girl,  who  is  naught  to  thee,  and  can  never  be ;  and  also 

hast  had  the  misfortune  to  have  committed  sin  by 

taking  a  life."  ' 

"Enough!"    I   cried.    "Thou    hast    said  enough, 
by  Heaven !  "  and  I  faced  him. 

"  Is  it  not  true  ?  "  he  asked,  with  his  cold,  cynical 
glance,  and  I  was  so  surprised  at  his  reading  my  secret 
that  I  could  not  answer  him  for  the  moment.    "  Yea," 
he  proceeded,  "and  more,  thou  fool,  have  not  thy 
fond  dreams  taught  thee  that  thy  love  for  this  girl 
is  impossible  ?  " 
"  And  why  impossible  ?  "  I  cried. 
"  Dost  thou  not  know  who  this  giri  is."  he  answered 
in  scorn,  "  whom  thou  hast  cast  sheep's  eyes  upon  ?  " 
"The  King's  ward,"  I  answered  quickly. 
He  turned  on  me  like  a  flash.    "Who  told  thee 
that  ?  "  he  said  sharply. 
"  It  matters  not,  'tis  enough  I  know  it." 
"Ha,  ha!"  he  sneered  in  his  scornful  way,  "but 
it  is  a  keen  cockerel  after  aU,  and  a  right  ambitious 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  131 

one,  indeed.  And  might  I  ask  thee,  thou  great  unknown, 
how  thou  art  to  accomplish  this  brav«^  allia.  ce  ?  " 
"  I  have  not  considered  it,"  I  answi  -ed  in  defiance. 
Naj,  thou  hast  not  considered  it,"  he  answered. 
"Perohance  I  have  for  the  first  time  put  it  into  bold 
thought  for  thee.  But  thou  hast  looked  on  her,  held 
her,  dreamed  of  her;  perehance  even  kissed  her  fair 
lips." 

"Thou  devil!"  I  cried,  "I  wiU  kiU  thee!"  for 
the  man's  brutality  overmastered  me  for  the  time. 

" Nay,  nay,  I  ask  pardon,"  he  returned.  "I  forgot 
that  thou  art  monkish  enough  to  stay  at  that;  but 
thy  dreams  have  carried  thee  further.  Thou  hast 
been  fool  enough  to  allow  thyself  to  worship  and  to 
get  thy  heart  entangled  by  a  bit  of  fair  soft  flesh, 
sweet  eyes,  and  glistening  hair,  which  is  as  far  out  of 
thy  reach  as  the  sun  at  noonday." 

"Art  thou  done,  thou  croaker?"  I  cried,  hating 
him  the  more  for  the  truth  he  had  told  me,  for  I  knew 
that  he  delighted  in  this  destroying  of  a  sweet  hope 
in  a  human  soul,  as  men  say  Satan  loves  to  kill  hope 
and  purity  in  the  spirit  of  a  man. 

"Nay,  not  until  I  have  cured  thee,"  he  answered. 
"'Tis  a  bitter  medicine,  and  thou  hast  but  tasted 
It  yet,  but  for  all  thy  fierceness  thou  wilt  thank  me 
afterward." 

"Never!"  I  cried.    But  he.  as  though  I  had  not 
spoken,  continued — 
"  Hearken,  thou  proud  fool,  and  I  will  show  thee 


132 


IAN  OF  TPE  ORCADES 


what  thou  art,  and  what  thou  hast  done :  first,  when, 
as  thou  knowest,  I  had  dreams  for  the  vengeance  of 
Heaven  on  the  ill-doer,  and  for  thy  high  advancement, 
thou  didst  spoil  my  work  and  foil  mine  undertaking. 
Further,  thou  hast  slain  a  man  of  this  castle,  and  made 
thyself  a  foe  of  many  of  the  in-dwellers,  so  that  it  will 
take  all  mine  energies  of  thought  and  speech  to  keep 
thee  here  with  a  whole  skin.  Next,  thou  hast  saved  a 
maiden's  Ufe,  and  betwixt  us  two  it  were  better  that 
the  man-at-arms  had  had  her,  for  all  thou  wilt  have 
of  her,  or  of  her  wealth  and  state,  or  fsimess  of  person. 
For  what  is  the  end  of  all  the  great  toil  but  to  give 
power  and  happiness  to  the  earl  thy  father,  yon  proud 
countess,  and  chiefly  thy  brother  Hugh." 

"My  brother  Hugh!"  I  said.  'What  meanest 
thou  ?  " 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  ?  Art  thou  so  blind  to  all 
about  thee  that  thou  dost  not  see  that  the  proud 
countess  hath  as  well  as  wedded  this  caged  beauty  to 
thy  brother,  who,  as  all  know,  is  deeply  enamoured  of 
her  already." 

"  Thou  liest ! "  I  cried  when  I  heard  this ;  but  I 
said  it  more  in  anger  and  despair  than  with  any  con- 
viction, for  both  he  and  I  knew  that  it  was  all  too 
true. 

"  Now  see  what  thou  hast  done,"  he  continued. 
''  Instead  of  avenging  thy  wrongs  on  this  house,  as 
became  thy  proper  spirit,  thou  hast  balked  my  vengeance 
and  thine,  and  hath  fool-like  risked  thine  own  life  and 


u 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  133 

made  bitter  foes,  to  give  her,  whor     *hou  murt  love  in 
vain,  into  the  arms  of  thy  brother  li  .^    " 

When  he  said  this  last  I  felt  as  if  all  nfe  were  leaving 
me.  What  if  it  were  true,  and  what  evidence  had  I 
to  disprove  his  words  ?  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  had 
never,  so  far  as  I  knew,  told  me  a  direct  he,  though  he 
had  fooled  both  me  and  himself  by  bundles  of  half- 
truths. 

"  Art  thou  sure  of  this  ?  "  I  cried  ;  "  as  thou  hopest 
to  live  and  die,  tell  me  true." 

"  So  sure  is  it  as  that  thou  livest  and  lovest  beyond 
thee,"  he  answered.  "  Think  no  more  of  her.  She 
is  as  good  as  wedded  to  thy  brother,  whom  thou  lovest 
so  well.  Would  Heaven  he  had  so  well  requited  thee." 
"What  meanest  thou?"  I  said.  "What  of  my 
brother  ?  "  For  in  spite  of  aU  I  loved  him,  even  though 
he  was  somewhat  careless  of  my  presence  or  absence, 
but  this  was  because  of  his  up-bringing,  to  be  more 
thoughtless  than  I ;  for  a  more  true,  knightly,  and 
single-hearted  spirit  than  my  brother  never  Uved. 

"  Thou  canst  not  make  me  hate  him,"  I  cried,  "  even 
though  this  last  and  worst  cometh  betwixt  us."  Yet 
I  felt  as  I  spoke  that  all  henceforth  could  not  be  the 
same  betwixt  us  if  this  were  true,  for  the  great  tragedy 
of  nature  worketh  wrath  in  the  hearts  of  men  for  ever. 

"Thou  wilt  yet  see,"  he  cried,  "I  am  thine  only 
friend.  Who  else  careth  for  thee  that  thou  be  alive 
or  dead  ?  But  take  mine  advice  in  this  matter.  Have 
no  more  thought  of  this  girl,  she  is  thy  brother's  who 


134 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


hath  sucked  tul  the  honey  and  sunlight  of  this  ill 
world." 

"Leave  met"  I  cried.  "Leave  me!  thou  hatt 
■poken  true !  I  am  a  fool,"  I  almost  sobbed,  "  I  can 
stand  no  more !  ** 

"  Think  on  the  Church,  my  son !  *'  he  said  as  he 
went  out.  "  "Tis  thy  one  hope  and  haven,  as  it  was 
for  me." 

I  waited  until  he  was  gone,  and  then  down  on  my 
knees  by  my  couch  I  prayed  Heaven  to  help  n  3  bear 
this  great  passion,  to  forget  this  sweet  dream  that  had 
filled  my  heart,  also  that  I  might  not  grow  like  this 
dread  priest,  into  a  veritable  Cain,  and  come  to  hate 
my  brother. 


.  ik. 


CHAPTER  XII 


"M'INE  was  but  poor  comfort  in  the  days  that  followed, 
-*'"-'■  All  my  past  interest  in  life  seemed  to  have  left 
me,  and  I  cared  only  to  ponder  on  my  position,  and 
anon  to  obtain  a  secret  glimpse  of  her  wlio  had  laid 
this  glamour  on  my  soul. 

There  was  much  care  and  bustle  in  the  castle  for 
some  days.  Our  dead  had  to  be  buried,  and  our 
wounded  cared  for,  so  that  few  had  time  for  thought. 
There  was,  however,  much  anxiety  to  know  what  the 
result  would  be  at  Court,  where  the  fierce  Albany  would 
be  sure  to  take  revenge  upon  us  in  behalf  of  his  dead 
ally  and  friend. 

There  also  went  a  rumour  through  the  castle  that 
the  earl  was  mad.  He  took  it  into  his  head  at  times 
that  the  bishop  was  with  him,  and  he  would  leap  from 
bed  or  table,  and  cry,  *'  See  to  it  that  he  is  dead ! 
There  he  lies ! "  and  such  similar  words,  which  made 
the  castle  folk  quake,  and  fear  that  the  bishop's  spirit 
walked  to  punish  his  murderer.  All  of  this,  together 
with  the  dread  of  Albany,  gave  the  lady  countess  much 
grief  and  anxiety,  so  that  she  rarely  left  her  chapel, 
where  she  spent  her  time  fasting  and  praying,  seeking 

136 


136 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


forgiveness  for  her  lord's  sins.    Here  was  I  also  some- 
times  led   by  another  feeling  than   that   of  religion, 
though  I  must  say  that  this  love  for  a  girl  in  a  young 
man's  heart  savoureth  much  of  religion  itself.    But  did 
I  have  hopes  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  that  fair  face, 
it  was  but  a  vain  fancy,  and  I  was  punished  for  my 
pagan  thoughts,  for  I  never  got  a  sight  of  her,  save 
at  a  distance,  when  she  came  or  went,  veiled  in  deep 
mourning  for  the   dead  bishop.    During  this  time  I 
was  left  much  to  myself,  being  as  it  were  forgotten. 
Even  the  priest,  since  our  late  interview,  seemed  to 
shun  me,  as  though  lie  thought  that  if  left  to  myself, 
and  suffered  to  see  the  madness  of  my  dreams,  I  would 
come  by  degrees  into  his  way  of  thinking.    But  love 
hath  a  thousand  ways  of  beguiling  its  victim,  even  to 
the  getting  of  a  sort  of  sad  pleasure  out  of  its  misery. 
I  would  sit  in  my  room,  shut  in  by  my  grim  lonely 
walls,  and  Uve  over  and  over  within  myself  those  moments 
of  that  night  which  I  would  never  forget,  and  build 
my  heart  up  with  the  thought  that  I  had  been  the  one 
to  save  her.    And  I  would  wonder  if  at  times  she 
might  think  of  me,  or  even  in  her  dreams  remember 
her  preserver.    Then  would  come  the  memory  of  the 
priest's  cruel  words,  I  would  recall  the  scorn  on  her 
fair  face,  and  my  despair  would  conquer  all  else. 

There  was  one  place  on  a  parapet  of  the  castle  wall 
where  the  watchmen  were  wont  to  keep  guard,  and 
where  it  had  been  my  habit  to  go  when  I  desired  to 
be  alone,   taking  with  me  a  black-letter  book  when 


^fe— ■. 


n 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  137 

the  days  were  fine.  Here  I  would  now  crawl  up  and 
watch  for  a  chance  sight  of  her,  and  not  many  days 
after  I  had  been  there  I  heard  a  sound  of  trumpets, 
saw  the  warder  let  down  the  bridge,  and  soon  there 
appeared  my  brother  Hugh  gaily  caparisoned,  and  by 
his  side,  riding  on  a  palfrey,  a  figure  which,  though 
veiled,  I  knew  to  be  hers.  Thereafter  they  would  ride 
out,  day  after  day,  followed  by  an  armed  escort.  I 
saw  that  this  was  a  purpose  of  the  countess  to  throw 
them  much  together,  and  thus  bring  about  her 
desire. 

This  went  on  for  some  days,  until  it  made  me  sick 
with  envy,  for  I  could  see,  from  where  I  crouched, 
that  Hugh  with  his  gallant  form,  fair  face,  and  im- 
petuous spirit  of  youth  and  gaiety,  was  one  well  suited 
to  a  girl's  fancy ;  and  every  look  of  his  and  glance  of 
hers  went  as  a  dagger  to  my  heart.  At  times  I  would 
wonder  that  she  never  inquired  for  me,  and  it  seemed 
strange  also  that  Hugh  did  not  notice  my  absence,  or 
come  to  see  me,  and  I  soon  began  to  fear  that  the 
seed  of  that  hatred,  which  the  priest  so  desired,  was 
planting  itself  in  my  heart.  But  an  event  soon 
occurred  which  shamed  me  of  such  ill  dreams.  One 
bright  morning  Hugh  burst  into  my  room,  in  a  manner 
more  Uke  his  old  self. 

"Ian,  thou  morose  dog,"  he  said  in  his  light  way, 
"thou  must  come  out  of  thy  cell,  or  we  will  think 
that  thou  hast  a  plot  to  turn  the  castle  into  a  monk's 
hold.    The   sweetest   lady   in   the  world   hath   asked 


■^^*5«P»t- 


138 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


after  her  preserver,  and  wonders  why  he  so  shutteth 

himself  up." 
"  And  she  hath  asked  after  me  ?  "  I  cried,  but  I  had 

to  hide  mine  agitation,  and  the  words  came  out  in  so 

constrained  a  manner,  that  he,  in  his  impetuous  fueling, 

deemed  me  an  indifferent  bookworm. 

"  Yea,  she  hath,  thou  mole  !  "  he  answered.  "  And 
proud  thou  shouldst  be  of  such  a  condescension  on 
the  part  of  this  fair  princess ;  and,  Ian,"  he  added,  coming 
closer,  "  I  am  but  a  sad  fellow  myself,  and  an  ungrateful 
hound,  not  to  have  before  this  thanked  thee  for  thy 
brave  deed  in  rescuing'  her."  And  he  held  out  his 
hand  as  though  to  take  mine.  I  saw  that  this  was 
but  more  proof  of  his  open,  kind  nature,  and  yet  if  all 
life  had  been  at  stake  I  could  not  but  have  felt  angry 
at  his  seeming  patronage  of  mine  act,  as  though  he 
were  already  her  owner  and  I  but  a  dutiful  vassal. 

I  gave  him  my  hand  though  but  coldly.  "  It  were 
naught,"  I  managed  to  say,  "it  is  but  what  thou 
wouldst  have  done  thyself,"  but  I  said  it  in  no  kindly 
spirit. 

"Yea,"  he  answered,  "thou  art  but  a  spiritless 
fellow,  who  doth  not  value  thy  good  fortune.  If  it 
were  in  me  to  envy  thee,  I  would  almost  do  so,  that 
thou  hadst  the  chance  to  save  her  as  thou  didst.  Who 
would  have  thought  it  in  thee  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  no  reason  to  envy  anyone,"  I  answered 
with  some  bitterness ;  whereat  he  gave  me  a  wondering 
look  for  a  moment,  then  he  said,  "Come,  sir  monk, 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  139 

the  lady  hath  sent  for  thee,  we  must  not  keep  her 
waiting." 

"And  what  may  she  want  with  me?"  I  asked 
sullenly. 

"Want?"  he  answered,  "my  sad  brother,  'tis 
fact  enough  that  she  calls  for  thee.  No  more  is  needed. 
Thou  must  come !  " 

But  what  could  he  dream  of  my  feelings  ?  I  would 
have  given  worlds  to  see  her  face  again,  to  hear  her 
speak,  to  touch  her  hand,  yet  I  feared  to  meet  this 
girl,  so  much  to  me  yet  so  far  out  of  my  reach,  and 
belonging,  as  I  bitterly  thought,  o  this  youth,  my 
father's  son. 

"  I  will  go,"  I  said  shortly,  with  a  rapidly  beating 
heart,  and  I  followed  him  out. 

We  found  her  upon  the  castle  wall,  attired  in  her 
riding  garments,  waiting  for  her  palfrey.  And  I  who 
have  since  seen  many  a  beautiful  and  high-bom  woman, 
have  never  seen  so  fair  a  picture  as  she  made  there 
that  afternoon,  as  she  stood  waiting  for  us,  gauntlet 
in  hand,  by  the  castle  wall.  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes 
off  her,  as  if  I  were  a  bhnd  man  recovered  and  for  the 
first  time  feasting  on  God's  sunlight,  for  such  did  she 
seem  to  me. 

"Fair  lady,"  said  Hugh,  "this  is  thy  monkish  de- 
fender, and  he  little  deserveth  thy  regard,  though  he 
so  nobly  hath  earned  it.  Had  it  been  I  who  had  so 
earned  thy  favour,  thou  wouldst  not  have  had  to  fetch 
me !  '*  and  he  bent,  in  his  high  and  gallant  way,  on 


140 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


one  knee  and  but  touched  her  hand  with  his  lips,  while 
I  seemed  to  see  the  sun  as  it  were  a  drop  of  blood. 
^^  "  I  doubt  it  not,  my  lord,"  I  heard  her  answer  him. 
"  so  now  to  keep  my  favour,  see  you  that  they  keep 
me  not  long  in  waiting  for  my  palfrey ; "  and  the  mist 
now  being  gone  from  my  sight,  I  saw  that  she  gave 
him  a  sweet  smile,  and  dismissed  him  as  a  princess  would 
her  courtier.    Then  we  two  were  alone,  and  she  turned 
to  me,  and  I  thought  I  caught  a  look  of  pity  on  her 
face  as  she  offered  me  her  hand  in  a  proud  and  distant 
manner.    I   affected   not   to  see  it,  and   only  bowed 
low,  for  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  touch  it,  and  said, 
"  My  lady,  my  brother  said  that  thou  hadst  sent  for 
me." 

"Thy  brother?"  she  said,  in  some  wonderment, 
looking  me  full  in  the  face  for  a  moment. 

"  Yea,  my  lady,"  I  answered  in  the  same  cold  tones, 
but  it  seemed  that  my  intense  regard  embarrassed 
her,  for  her  eyes  went  down  and  she  drew  back. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  I  owe  thee  more  than  I  can  ever 
repay,  for  thou  hast  done  that  for  me  few  men  would 
have  done ;  and  I  would  in  some  sort  give  thee  token 
of  my  regard  for  thy  deed ; "  then  she  paused,  waiting 
for  my  answer,  but  her  words  smote  on  my  pride. 
What  cared  I  for  reward  ?  Not  aU  the  wealth  of  the 
world  could  give  me  compensation  when  she  herself 
was  out  of  my  reach.  But  I  had  to  answer  her  and 
check  my  fiercely  beating  heart. 
"  Lady,"  I  said  sternly,  "  I  require  no  reward." 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


141 


"  Yea,"  she  answered,  "  thou  art,  I  am  told,  wedded 
to  Holy  Church,  and  a  scorner  of  women  and  women's 
rewards ; "  but  she  added,  with  I  thought  some  touch 
of  raillery  in  her  voice,  "  thou  seemest,  however,  over- 
great  a  swordsman  for  the  vocation  of  c  priest." 

"  Nay,"  I  cried,  "  there  are  those,  my  lady,  who 
have  no  choice  in  this  si^d  world,  but  are  doomed  to  a 
certain  life  from  their  birth.    Such  am  I." 

"Forgive  me,  sir,  if  I  speak  plain,"  she  answered, 
"but  I  see  that  thy  life  here  is  not  of  the  happiest. 
Perchance  you  love  soUtude,  but  if  you  desire  preference 
or  means,  Margaret  Seton  hath  much  which  she  needs 
not.    Speak,  and  it  is  yours." 

"  Lady,"  I  said  sternly,  "  I  require  not  riches  nor 
place.    I  am  beyond  thine  aid." 
"  Sir,"  she  answered,  "  I  meant  it  but  in  kindness." 
"Yea,"  I  cried  bitterly,  "and  thou  thinkest  that 
thou  canst  pay  me  like  any  hireling  for  what  I  have 
done." 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  "  I  see  that  my  thanks  are  but 
ill  valued,"  and  she  turned  to  go. 

"  Stop,  lady ! "  I  cried,  "  I  meant  not  to  repel  thy 
thanks,  but  I  will  have  no  other  reward  save  thy  kind 
words,  which  are  more  to  me  than  all  thy  riches  and 
power." 

"  Thou  hast  pride,"  she  answered.  "  I  had  not  thought 
this  of  you." 

"'Tis  all  I  have  left,  if  thou  wilt  pardon  me,"  I 
answered. 


143 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


(( ' 


'  I  had  but  thought  to  aid  you,"  she  returned,  "  but 
it  aeemeth  I  may  not.  Wilt  thou  not  at  least  take 
Margaret  Seton'a  gratitude  for  what  thou  hast  done  ?  " 
and  she  again  held  out  her  shapely  hand. 

"You  are  far  beyond   me,  madam,"   I  answered, 
not  seeming  to  see  it.     "  I  am  out-Ide  thy  world," 
and  I  again  bowed  low.    She  started  at  this,  and  then 
drew  up  as  if  offended  at  my  audacity,  and  said,  "  Well, 
sir,  let  it  be !    I  have  been  mistaken,"  and  she  turned 
from  me  and  leaned  over  the  parapet.    It  was  my 
diamissal,  and  I  knew  that  I  deserved  it,  for  my  pride 
had  been  but  a  poor  answer  to  her  kindness.    Yet  I 
had  to  fight  for  myself  and  my  brother;  and  in  my 
poor  pkce  what  else  could  I  do  ?    I  should  have  left 
her  then,  but  I  stood  there  rooted  to  the  spot  like  one 
with  no  sense  of  wiU.    I  noticed  every  turn  of  her 
figure,  the  curve  of  her  neck,  her  fair  head  with  its 
high-bom  carriage  and  deKcate  beauty;  and  I  yearned 
for  the  power  or  the  freedom  to  kneel  at  her  side,  as 
Hugh  had  done,  and  kiss  her  shapely  hand.    But  I 
had  no  right  to  do  this,  mine  honour  told  me,  and  my 
pride  would  have  that  or  naught  else  in  the  world. 
There  I  stood,  fool  that  I  was,  like  some  clown  biting 
my  nails ;  when  she  turned  her  about,  and  in  a  proud 
voice  said,  "Sir  Churchman,  wouldst  thou  find  for 
me  what  delayeth  this  gay  squire  of  mine  ?  "    Then 
with  a  start  and  a  blush  I  bowed  low  and  left  her.    But 
I  noted  that  for  aU  her  hauteur  there  was,  as  she 
faced  me,  a  trace  as  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  Xin 

TT  was  soon  an  assured  fact  throughout  the  castle 
that  my  brother  Hugh  was  about  to  be  betrothed 
to  the  Lady  Margaret  Seton ;  and  the  lady  countess, 
though  she  redoubled  her  prayers  and  penances,  went 
with  her  proud  head  even  a  bit  higher.    Every  day, 
as  I  saw  from  my  soUtaiy  place,  my  brother  and  the' 
Lady  Margaret  rode  out  together ;  and  from  her  actions 
I  fancied  that  the  lady  herself  seemed  to  have  forgot 
her  trouble,  and  to  have  taken  on  somewhat  of  gaiety, 
though  it  was  with  but  a  modest  and  subdued  air,' 
for  she  neither  perked  nor  made  much  of  herself,  as  is 
sometimes  the  manner  and  mood  of  some  of  her  sex, 
but  was  ever  quiet  and  pensive  in  soul,  and  even  when 
she  had  served  me  out,  as  my  harsh  pride  deserved, 
had  done  it  as  an  angel  would,  and  far  beyond  my 
deserts.    I  grew  to  know  every  look  of  her  face  and 
turn  of  her  form,  and  remembered  each  sound  of  her 
voice,  and  in  safety  too,  for  they  never  so  much  as 
looked  up  or  turned  my  way.    For  why  should  youth, 
pride,  beauty  and  high  station  pause  to  think  of  such 
as  I  ?    It  soon  came  to  my  mind,  however,  that  I 
was  a  great  fool  to  go  on  thus,  and  it  were  better  for 

143 


144 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


If 

I'' 


me  to  leave  this  castle,  where  only  shame  and  misery 
were  my  part,  and  where  I  was  barely  tolerated  as 
one  whose  presence  was  but  a  penance  to  others.    I 
began  to  think  me  of  the  wide  world,  a  a  of  my  chances 
if  I  went  to  the  wars,  or  found  my  way  to  the  great 
Court  at   Stirling.    In   this   mood   I  would  go  below 
to    my    friend     the    armourer,   who   would,  if   busy, 
let  me  aid  him  in  his  toil,  or  if  not  too  busy  would 
tell  me  old  tales  of  my  house,  or  of  other  great  houses, 
of  brave  soldiers  of  our  people  from  the  great  Bruce 
down ;  tales  that  set  my  blood  a-tingling,  and  boded 
but  ill  for  the  hopes  of  mine  uncle  Angus.    At  other 
times  his  tales  would  turn  on  legends  of  the  castle, 
and  I  would  try  to  question  him,  among  other  matters,' 
as  to  the  history  of  the  old  ..ongeon  I  had  discovered,' 
where  I  had  seen  the  sad  remains  of  some  dead  prisoner,' 
but  he  always  seemed  to  avoid  this  subject,  nor  could 
he  be  brought  to  speak  of  my  father. 

"The  deeds  of  the  lord  ire  the  lord's,"  he  would 
say,  "  and  the  power  his.  We  are  here  to  do  his  bidding, 
and  not  to  talk  him  down.  He  hath  power  to  sear  eye 
and  sUt  tongue,  be  they  false  or  free,  and  it  behoves 
us  to  carry  us  according." 

One  day,  however,  when  there  was  a  lull  in  our 
speech  and  labour,  I  was  astonished  to  hear  a  groan, 
as  of  one  in  pain,  under  the  floor  of  the  smithy  where 
we  were  working.  I  started  at  the  time,  but  he  acted 
as  if  not  to  have  heard  it,  but  when  it  was  repeated 
somewhat   louder   some   time   after,   I   said,  "Master 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  145 

smith,  what  meaneth  that  noise,  an  of  one  in  pain 

stand  ?  Tis  the  pmoner."  he  answered,  as  if  it 

were  but  a  common  matter  for  human  misery  to  find 
a  voice  m  the  pavement  whereon  he  trod 

"The  prisoner !  »  I  cried,  and  he  saw  that  my  wonder 
wou^d  not  thus  be  satisfied,  so  he  sat  down,  a'nd  s  JZ 

Sur  clerk,  thou  canst  not  but  know  that  in  great 
castfes  hke  thxs  there  must  be  such  places.  G^at 
lords  have  enemies,  and  enemies  do  Ul  deeds.  Those 
deeds  must  have  their  pmiishment.  so  that  we  have 
dm^ons    and   cells    wherein    folk   spend    their  Uves 

Know"'   ;i.'°'  '"'""  '°"^  ^  '^'^^'^^  *^-^  betters.' 
Know  you  that  'neath  where  we  stand  is  such  a  dungeon 

and  m  that  dungeon  is  a  prisoner,  a  great  chiZof  a 

people  of  the  west,  who  hath  long  been,  he  and  his 

Stem  foes  to  the  earl  and  his  house.    For  years  he' 

strove  with  our  people,  and  gave  them  much  scathe 

let  our  blood,  and  we  his.    He  was.  and  is  yet.  a  proud 

man^^of  an  old  line,  and  carried  matters  so  that  he 

would  have  had  the  advantage  for  ever;  but  he  hath 

whoTn'.r      i'  ^  ""'''  *  ^'^"  "^^^  ''  ^^«*  «tripe 
who  sell  their  kin.  and  this  man  who  now  rules  it  Z 

his  g  en.  sold  his  kinsman  into  our  hands.  He  heth  there 
now  hke  an  old  rusted  sword,  though  scarce  past  his  prime 
and  there  he  will  stay  tiU  he  dieth,  becal  he  scorned 
the  lord  of  the  Cattynes.  and  hath  a  Uar  for  a  kinsman  " 
And  doth  this  poor  soul  dwell  here  all  this  while  ?  " 
1  asked  m  some  sense  of  horror. 
zo 


m 


feijiii^^ 


mfmii^^tm 


Z46 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  That  he  doth  "  he  answered.  "  'Tis  ten  summera 
and  winters,  come  Yuletide,  since  he  was  housed 
therein.  But  it  seemeth  me,  by  his  manner  and  look 
of  late,  his  tenantry  will  be  but  short  now.*' 

"  You  mean  that  he  will  escape  !  "  I  cried. 

"Yea,"  said  the  armourer,  testing  a  blade  with 
his  thumb,  *'  by  that  one  last  gate  we  all  must  go." 

"  Thou  dost  not  say  he  is  dying  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  he  answered.  "  Death  is  better 
than  Ufe  in  such  a  place."  And  I  answered  not,  for 
I  remembered  the  sight  of  the  dungeon  I  had  seen, 
with  the  skeleton  in  the  chains.  Then  a  thought  came 
to  my  mind,  "  Hath  he  never  tried  to  escape  ? "  I 
cried. 

"  Escape !  "  he  answered.  "  He  might  as  well  try 
to  fly  to  heaven  as  to  escape.  Thou  hast  not  seen 
his  cell."  Then  he  spake  more  sternly,  "Thou  hast 
discovered  a  secret,  sir  clerk,  that  few  here  rede  of,  and 
which  were  worth  thy  life  and  mine  didst  thou  prate 
of  it.  The  lord  earl,  yon  grim  priest,  the  hound  thou 
slowest,  myself  and  thyself,  are  all  who  have  known 
of  his  presence  since  he  hath  come." 

"  This  be  a  dread  matter,  master  smith,"  I  answered, 
"  and  adds  not  to  my  happiness  to  know  that  so  much 
misery  can  be  so  near  our  rising  up  and  lying  down. 
Can  men's  hate  go  so  far  ?  " 

"  'TLb  a  grim  world,"  he  answered,  "  and  when  thou 
numberest  so  many  winters  as  have  gone  over  my  head, 
you  will  think  less  of  such  matters.    I  have  sometime 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  147 

bad  suoh  feelingg  mywU  that  have  ihamed  me.  eepeoiaUy 
when  I  see  thia  man  and  his  item  unbending  pride 
but  I  must  needs  do  my  lord's  wiU.  He  is  the  enemy 
of  OUT  people,  and  would  not  scruple  to  do  likewise 
to  us  did  he  get  us  into  his  power.  'Tis  our  law  of 
life." 

"  But  were  not  death  preferable  ?  "  I  said. 
^  "  Yea,  I  have  thought  as  much  myself."  he  answered. 

but  then  there  is  the  thin  thread  of  hope  while  there 
w  life,  and  he  hath  only  of  late  given  it  up.  When 
thou  first  earnest  here  his  friends  had  made  an  attempt 
to  get  word  to  him,  but  it  failed,  and  the  rescuer  got 
but  short  shrift." 

"  Was  he  killed  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Dost  thou  remember  the  day  thou  camest  into 
the  yard  that  a  man  was  shot  on  the  wall  ?  " 

"Next  to  one  other  scene  I  will  remember  it  to  my 
death."  I  cried.  "It  seemed  but  an  iU  omen  to  my 
coming," 

^^  "'Twas  his  foster-brother."  continued  the  armourer, 
and  but  a  grim  work  he  made  of  it.    He  was  the 
third." 

"  And  since  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Since  then  there  have  been  no  more." 

"  Could  I  see  this  man  ?  "  I  asked. 

"See  him!  Thou  art  mad!"  he  answered.  "By 
certes.  nay!  Thou  knowest  more  than  is  good  for 
thee  now,  without  'dangering  thy  neck  and  mine! 
But  my  forge  cooleth.  and  this  good  blade  must  be 


T48 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


tempered."    And  he  forthwith  fell  to  his  hammering 
and  would  say  no  more. 

But  thin  gave  me  much  grave  and  ill  thought.  I 
would  lie  on  my  bed  at  night  and  think  of  that  poor 
soul  chained  to  his  rock  in  a  living  death.  Then 
memory  of  my  trap  came  into  my  mind,  and  what 
I  knew  of  the  under  castle,  and  I  wondered  how  far 
I  might  look  into  this  man's  place  of  ill  abode.  But 
somewhat  else  took  place  that  day,  which  as  it  hath 
to  do  with  my  life  in  the  castle  I  must  not  fot^et  to 
relate.  For  some  time  it  had  been  my  habit  to  elude 
my  meals  at  table,  and,  having  little  care  for  food, 
which  was  a  foolish  madn<»s8  of  my  youth,  but  regarded 
by  others  as  a  proof  of  my  churchly  spirit,  I  went  not 
much  into  the  dining-hall.  However,  either  my 
brother  Hugh  or  the  Lady  Margaret  had  looked  into 
my  habits,  or  perchance  the  countess  herself  had  some 
compunction  of  conscience  towtrd  me,  for  word  came 
to  me  in  my  room  by  a  servant  that  my  presence  was 
commanded  at  the  hall  table,  and  with  some  unwilling- 
ness I  obeyed  the  order.  When  I  entered  the  hall, 
where  all  were  seated  already,  I  perceived  that  there 
was  somewhat  amiss.  All  were  there  in  their  places, 
just  as  of  old.  save  that  next  to  the  countess  sat  the 
Lady  Margaret  with  a  veil  partly  over  her  face,  and 
opposite  sat  Hugh  with  little  of  heaven  in  his  counten- 
ance. At  the  head  of  the  table  was  my  lord  earl  with 
a  face  like  a  thundercloud,  who  said  naught  nor  ate 
more,  but  drank  deeply  in  a   moody  silence.    None 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


149 

noticed  me  m  I  took  my  place  next  to  mine  uncle 
Ajjqb.  ju«t  above  the  salt  a.  had  been  our  ciiitom 
•nd  below  the  others  just  far  enough  to  be  in  or  out 
of  the  conversation  as  our  superiors  willed. 
^  The  priest  with  a  dark  look  grumbled  in  mine  ear. 
^ell,  thou  hast  got  back  to  thy  common-sense  once 
more.      But  I  noticed  him  not,   being  busy  looking 
to  get  a  ghmpse  of  the  Lady  Margaret,  who,  with  more 
of  shyness  than  I  had  expected,  stole  a  look  my  way 
then  catching  my  glance,  withdrew  hers  in  a  haughty 
manner,  and  directed  her  attention  to  her  food 

Whatever    appetite    I    may    have    had    now    left 
me.      It  was  but  a   poor  meal,  where  aU   sat,   my 
lady  countess  in  her  place,  looking  as  if  expectant  of 
some  catastrophe.    The  lord  earl  alone,  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  drank  and  drank  and  muttered  under  his 
beard.    The  lady  countess  ate  but  sparingly  of  some 
convent  food,  and  spake  in  low  tones  to  her  ward  and 
gUMt,  and  now  and  again  to  my  brother.    The  priest 
said  naught  after  he  had  addressed  me,  but  watched 
my  father  the  eari,  as  if  expecting  something  to  take 
pl«.9.    Thus  we  made  our  meal  in  but  ill  spirits  toward 
each  other,  and  I  could  not  but  feel  on  seeing  my  noble 
father,  who  was  little  better  than  a  madman,  and  my 
gnm  uncle  with  his  evil  glances,  that  there  was  after 
all  but  httle  remove  from  the  misery  there  present 
and  that  of  the  poor  soul  chained  to  his  rock  in  the 
cell  below.    Then  my  mind  reverted  to  hia  condition 
and  It  added  to  my  dislike  of  the  priest  to  know  that 


150 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


he  could  be  privy  to  this  torturing  of  a  fellow-creature 
all  these  years,  he  being  a  Churchman  of  sane  niind, 
whereas  the  earl  was  never  in  knowledge  of  anyone 
very  long  at  a  time.  We  had  sat  there  for  some  while 
in  this  grim  silence,  and  I  had  begun  to  think  it  about 
time  to  make  my  exit  from  a  scene  in  no  way  pleasurable 
to  me,  for  the  whole  position  I  occupied  was  one  of 
inferiority  and  semi-degradation,  when  on  a  sudden 
the  earl  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  dropping  his  flagon, 
stood  pale  and  trei^bling,  staring  and  pointing  in 
horror  and  rage  at  some  object  which  he  seemed  to 
see,  but  which  was  invisible  to  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"  Ho,  ho  there !  a  chair !  a  seat  for  my  lord 
bishop ! "  he  cried.  Then  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to 
sc-ne  person,  "  Comest  thou  back  to  daunt  me  ? " 
Whereat  we  all  started  from  our  places  in  horror  at 
the  dread  scene,  and  of  the  retainers  some  fled  the  hall, 
and  others  stood  still  in  terror,  many  grim  men  putting 
hand  to  blade,  as  the  only  means  known  to  them  of 
combating  a  foe,  fleshly  or  of  the  spirit.  I  had  thought 
that  the  Lady  Margaret  would  have  swooned  where 
she  sat,  but  the  lady  countess  partly  supported  her, 
and  stared  in  horror  herself  at  the  look  on  her  lord's 
face.  The  priest  alone  sat  in  sombre  silence,  his  dark 
smile  regarding  his  brother  without  either  fear  or  pity. 

"  See  ye  him  not  ?  "  repeated  the  earl ;  "  there  he 
standeth !  Ha,  ha !  Thou  foul  ghost,  comest  thou 
to  front  me  ?  "  And  he  regarded  \b<i  empty  air  as  one 
who  seeth  a  corporate  presence. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  j^t 

My  heart  froze  witWn  me  at  this,  for  the  earl  had  that 
horror  m  his  looks,  attitude,  and  voice,  as  of  one  who 
confronts  a  dread  enemy  not  of  this  world,  and  his 
agony  lent  itself  to  the  company  all  the  more  that  we 
did  not  share  in  his  sight  of  the  invisible  apparition. 

Then  the  countess  showed  her  great  fortitude  of 
■pint,  believing  as  she  did  in  the  supernatural  asoect 
of  this  visitation. 

"Sir  priest,"  she  cried  as  wi  an  effort,  "in  the 
name  of  Heaven  exorcise  this  ill  fit  from  off  him;  or 
if  it  be  a  demon,  drive  it  from  our  presence  !  " 

But  the  priest  stirred  not.  "Madam,"  he  said 
calmly,  and  his  voice  as  he  spake  jarred  on  me,  "  'tis 
but  a  fit  he  hath,  sent  as  a  visitation  of  Heaven  for 
his  great  sin  of  sacrilege.  'Tis  but  air  he  looketh  upon, 
where  his  mind  tormenteth  him  for  his  Ul  deed.  Vex 
him  not,  'twill  soon  pass." 

But  this  did  not  comfort  the  countess,  nor  the  rest 
of  us.  She  muttered  somewhat  about  heresy,  and 
took  to  her  beads,  while  the  rest  of  us  sat  in  dread 
expectancy,  for  the  earl  still  stood  there  and  held 
speech  with  some  invisible  presence. 

Then  something  took  place  which  we  had  not  looked 
for.  The  eari,  still  keeping  his  ga:e  on  the  invisible 
said  m  stem  tones,  "  Bring  me  my  sword  !  I  will  slay 
him  again.  I  wiU  show  him  that  I  am  master."  But 
no  one  of  us  stirred.  Then  he  spake  that  which  made 
us  aU  wonder,  and  turned  me  as  it  were  to  stone  with 
amazement. 


152 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  Ian  !  My  son  Ian  !  My  sword  !  Fetch  me  my 
sword ! "  But  I  moved  not  at  first  because  of  my 
amazement.  Then  he  repeated  it  again,  and  there 
was  a  cry  of  pathos  in  his  voice.  "  Ian  my  son,  dost 
thou  not  hear  thy  father  ?  "  At  this  I  could  stand  no 
more,  and  I  arose.  At  this  the  countess  stood  up, 
her  fear  gone,  but  her  rage  terrible  to  look  upon,  and 
said,  "  My  son  Hugh  shall  go  !  "  Then  Hugh,  all  in 
amaze,  as  I  was,  stood  up.  But  the  earl  cried  out, "  Nay, 
none  but  my  son,  my  son  Ian,  shall  do  this  !  " 

All  stared  in  wondef,  and  the  lady  countess,  casting 
on  me  a  look  of  intense  hate  and  scorn,  said, "My 
son  Hugh,  attend  thy  mother ! "  Then  she  said, 
"  Sir  priest,  thou  wert  right.  This  is  indeed  madness. 
I  may  not  stay  here,  it  is  not  fitting !  "  And  signalling 
to  the  Lady  Margaret  and  my  brother  to  follow  her, 
she  prepared  to  leave  tbe  room.  Then  the  earl  turned, 
and  in  voice  of  thunder  commanded  her  to  stay,  and  as 
he  spake  the  words  fell  before  ua  in  a  deadly  swoon 
on  the  floor  of  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

rriHE  dread  visitation  which  had  come  upon  the 
earl  was  but  the  beginning  of  an  illness  which 
was  ultimately  to  bring  him  to  his  death.  There 
were  few  in  the  castle  but  believed  that  it  was  a  super- 
natural  occurrence,  and  it  added  to  other  Uls  a  certain 
gloom  and  horror  not  to  be  shaken  off.  Were  it  not 
that  our  retainers  and  followers  had  no  better  place 
to  go,  they  would  have  fled  the  castle,  for  the  terror 
caused  by  this  awful  visitation  was  strong  upon  them 
all. 

As  for  me,  I  had  left  the  dining-hall  with  but  a  sad 
heart,  for  I  felt  that  the  earl's  attitude  toward  me 
would,  despite  her  churchly  conscience,  cause  the 
countess  to  make  my  stay  at  Gimigoe  but  a  short  one. 
In  this  I  was  right,  for  I  had  scarce  reached  my  room 
when  I  was  followed  by  a  page,  who  brought  message 
that  my  lady  countess  required  my  presence  at  once  in 
her  apartment. 

Now  I  was  but  low  in  spirits  with  the  whole  matter. 
My  life  in  the  place  had  come  to  a  pass  when  I  cared 
little  what  became  of  me.  So  it  Was  with  a  proud  and 
mdifferent  air  that  I  went  to  answer  her  summons. 


J 


154 


7.4  iV  OF  THE  ORCADES 


She  had  that  cold,  hateful  look  on  her  face  as  I  entered, 
and  had  I  feared  the  result  I  would  have  read  my 
doom  written  there. 

"Thou  hast  stayed  here  over  long  to  bring  woe 
on  this  place,  and  shame  on  a  great  house,"  she  said. 
"This  madness  of  my  lord's  to-day  hath  made  it 
necessary  that  you  should  leave  this  castle,  where 
in  all  propemess  you  should  never  have  stayed." 

"Madam,"  I  answered,  giving  her  pride  for  pride, 
"  I  came  not  here  pf  mine  own  free  will,  nor  have  I 
stayed  with  any  degree  of  happiness  or  pleasure,  nor 
is  it  fault  of  mine  that  I  have  been  used  with  despite 
in  these  wf^Us,  which  had  been  in  right  mine  own." 

"Ho,  ho!"  she  laughed  scornfully,  "who  hath 
filled  thy  mad  brain  with  this  lying  folly  ?  Dost  know 
%vhat  thou  art,  and  how  such  as  thou  are  despised 
and  a  standing  shame  to  their  own  kind  ?  Dost  thou 
know  that ?  "    But  I  stopped  her. 

"Madam,"  I  cried,  "spare  me  the  rest.  My  soul 
hath  been  seared  with  thy  scorn,  but  you  shall  not 
insult  the  memory  of  one  who  is  a  saint  in  heaven ! " 
and  I  faced  her  fiercely.  "  Whosever  the  sin,  it  was 
not  hers,  and  thou  showest  little  feeling  to  upbraid  me, 
the  innocent  victim,  with  what  thou  callest  my  disgrace. 
Nay,  nay !  let  me  go !  This  is  no  place,  as  you  truly 
say,'  for  such  as  I.  The  world  is  before  me,  and  I 
will  seek  that  kindness  amid  strangers  refused  me  by 
those  who  are  mine  own  kin."    And  I  turned  to  go. 

"  Stay ! "  she  cried  in  anger ;   "  thou  art  insolent 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  155 

beyond  %  years  and  place.  But,  as  thou  sayest, 
thou  art  not  to  blame  for  thine  ill-getting;  therefore 
I  will  see  that  thou  hast  a  proper  vocation  suiting  thy 
birth.  The  priest  who  hath  had  charge  of  thee  telleth 
me,  however,  to  my  sorrow,  that  thou  hast  no  love 
toward  that  vocation  which  thy  sad  origin  should 
turn  thee  to ;  that  thou  hast  a  worldly  pride  toward 
carnal  aims  and  hopes;  but  these  thou  must  forget, 
for  it  is  my  desire  that  you  should,  so  soon  as  I  can 
arrange  for  you,  enter  a  Church  house." 

"Madam,"  I  cried,  "this  may  not  be!  Were 
my  birth  all  you  would  make  it,  I  am  still  mine  own 
master,  and  no  churl,  to  be  done  for  as  though  I  had 
no  will.  Weal  or  woe,  I  am  no  Churchman,  but  am 
willed  to  be  a  soldier  and  see  the  world.  Thou  hast 
had  no  love  for  me,  and  you  shaU  have  but  little  will 
in  my  fate.    I  leave  this  castle  this  day." 

"Nay  but  thou  Shalt  not!"  she  said  fiercely, 
changing  her  mind,  as  if  angered  at  my  determination 
to  go.  "  Thou  Shalt  not  leave  while  I  have  will  here, 
save  to  be  whipped  as  an  insolent  from  its  shelter. 
Till  then  thou  shalt  stay  as  a  menial  within  its  walls." 

"  Hang  me  and  thou  wilt,  lady,"  I  answered,  *'  I 
will  leave  here  this  day." 

"  Thou  shalt  smart  for  this  insolence  !  "  she  cried. 

"  I  have  but  one  death  to  die,"  I  answered.  "  I  am 
not  afeared ! " 

"There  are  worse  punishments  than  death,"  she 
answered,  with  a  dark  look. 


156 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I. 


\] 


"  Yea,  my  lady,  there  are,"  I  answered,  "  as  this  castle 
doth  witness,"  and  I  thought  me  of  the  poor  prisoner 
beneath.  Then  I  looked  her  full  in  the  face,  and  said, 
"  Madam,  thou  canst  not  keep  me  here  !  " 

"  We  will  see  to  it !  "  she  cried  haughtily,  and  without 
another  word  I  turned  and  left  her. 

Bitter  were  my  feelings  as  I  made  my  hasty  prepara- 
tions, with  what  iittle  I  had  to  carry  into  the  outside 
world ;  for  I  made  up  my  mind  that  go  at  once  I  must, 
having  been  far  too  long  in  this  place,  where  not  one 
would  regret  me,  ahd  where  I  would  not  have  one 
soul  to  say  farewell  to  on  my  departure.  I  had  got 
my  little  all  into  a  bundle,  and  had  taken  down  my 
sword  to  buckle  it  on,  when  all  at  once  the  thought 
came  to  me  that  there  was  a  soul  in  worse  case  than  mine 
in  the  castle,  and  that  it  was  cowardly  to  go  away 
without  trying  to  do  somewhat  for  him,  for  it  was  an 
ill  thing  to  leave  this  poor  creature  in  such  a  place 
when  I  might  be  able  to  bring  him  some  hope  even  in 
his  dying  hours.  It  would  not  take  long  to  make  effort 
to  succour  him,  after  which  I  could  take  my  departure. 

My  blood  was  up  at  once  at  this  idea,  and  remembering 
that  toil  needs  nourishment,  and  that  if  I  chanced  to 
find  where  he  was  caged,  food  wonl.l  be  an  essential  to 
his  wants,  I  found  my  way  to  the  buttery,  where  I 
got  some  supplies  such  as  would  make  a  good  meal. 
I  brought  them  back  and  ate  what  I  felt  I  needed; 
then,  barring  my  door,  I  removed  my  trap  and 
descended. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  157 

I  now  knew  my  way,  and  had  somewhat  more  to 
expect,  so  was  less  nervous  than  on  the  former  occasion. 
The  situation  of  the  ceU  I  expected  would  be  on  mine 
uncle's  side  of  the  wall,  where  I  had  found  the  opening, 
so  I  decided  to  go  with  care   so  that  he  should  not 
become  aware  of  my  object.    Coming  to  the  opening.  I 
used  a  small  iron  instrument  which  I  had  made  in 
the  armoury,  and  soon  removed  enough  to  allow  of  my 
passage  without  causing  any  great  suspicion.    This  done, 
I  hearkened  for  a  moment,  and  hearing  naught,  took 
my  iron  tool  with  me.  and  with  some  effort  crawled 
through,   and  soon   stood  in   a  passage   or  stairway 
sinular  to  the  one  I  had  left,  leading  up,  as  I  suspected, 
to  my  uncle's  tower  and  down  to  the  water.    As  my 
object  of  search  drew  me  downward  and  not  up,  I 
turned  that  way,  and  soon  found  mine  eyes  greeted 
by  a  sense  of  light,  and  a  smell  of  sea  air  which  caught 
my  nostrils.    Down  and  down  I  went,  and  soon  found 
me  in  a  small  cavern  where  the  sea  washed  in  a  deep 
emerald-green  pool,  and  high  up  at  one  side,  along 
the  rocks,  there  lay  some  sort  of  small  craft  for  navi- 
gating the  water,  similar  to  what  I  have  since  learned 
were  used  by  the  fisher-folk  and  by  men  of  the  Western 
isles.    It  was  made  of  wicker-work  covered  over  with 
tough  hide,  and  seemed  so  light  that  it  could  easily 
be  put  in  the  water  or  taken  out.    I  now  understood 
how  the  bishop  had  come  and  gone,  and  how  mine 
uncle  found  his  means  of  egress  and  ingress.    Turning 
this  over  in  my  mind,  I  now  began  to  look  about  for 


158 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


\  ''I 


K 


the  abode  of  the  poor  prisoner,  which  I  judged  by  my 
knowledge  of  the  plan  of  the  caetle  and  the  position 
of  the  smithy  to  be  somewhere  in  this  vicinity.  That 
it  was  close  about  high-tide  mark  or  thereabouts  I 
made  up  my  mind,  as  it  would  be  similar  to  the  cell  on 
the  other  side.  This  would  keep  the  prisoner  in  con- 
stant  dread  of  being  drowned,  a  kind  of  torture  I  have 
since  learned  to  be  very  common  in  these  underground 
sea-walled  prisons  of  our  coast  holds.  I  soon  came  to 
a  bit  of  wall  at  one  comer  which  shut  off  my  passage, 
and  I  resolved  to  ti^  if  this  were  the  place,  for  I  was 
sure  that  there  was  no  entry  from  this  part  of  the  stair- 
way to  where  he  was  kept.  I  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  tapped  on  the  wall  with  my  iron.  There  was  no 
answer.  I  tapped  again  a  little  louder,  when  I  was 
rewarded  by  hearing  the  rattle  or  clink  of  a  chain,  or 
somewhat  like  it,  upon  the  other  side.  My  heart  beat 
wildly,  but  recovering  myself  I  looked  for  a  part  of  the 
wall  weak  enough  on  which  to  make  my  attack.  I 
soon  found  a  spot  where  the  stones  seemed  crumbling 
with  age  and  moisture  of  the  sea  air,  and  here  I  com- 
menced mine  operations.  At  first  I  found  it  hard  to 
remove  the  stones,  but  after  a  bit  made  an  entrance 
to  the  inner  wall,  which,  being  loosened,  soon  rewarded 
me  by  falling  inward  so  as  to  leave  a  uirly  la^  opening. 
As  the  wall  went  inward  with  a  considerable  noise  I 
was  startled,  and  feared  lest  I  might  be  heard  by  others 
and  my  work  discovered,  and  I  well  knew  the  penalty 
that  would  be  mine.    But  there  was  much  wash  of 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


159 


the  sea   on  the  lower  walls,  and  up  into  the  cove 
below,  which  deadened  any  but  a  conaderable  sound ; 
so  I  stood  for  a  moment  to  listen,  when  from  the  inside 
of  the  opening  there  came  so  sad  a  moan  that  it  made 
my  heart  curdle  to  hear  it,  as  though  it  were  a  voice 
from  the  dead  rather  than  from  one  UWng.    At  this 
a  strange  dread  came  over  me,  of  what  I  should  see 
or  meet  on  the  other  side,  so  I  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  called,   "Who   art   thou  who   crieth  ? "    There 
was  silence  for  a  space,  and  then  for  answer  there  came, 
"  Is   it    thou,   Roderick  ?    Ha,   ha !   hast   thou  come 
at  last  ?    Winters  and  sunmiers  have  I  prayed  for  thee, 
that  I  might  see  thy  face,  and  strike  thee  dead  !    But 
'tis  too  late  !  'tis  too  late." 

"  Who  art  thou  ? "  I  repeated.  Then  once  more 
came  the  voice  guttural  and  wild,  now  strong  and 
then  at  times  weak,  "  'Tis  the  wind  in  the  glen  I  hear, 
and  the  voice  of  my  Moma  calling  me  at  mom  and  at 
night  to  strike  thee  dead,  thou  false  kinsman,  Roderick ! " 
Then  the  voice  ceased,  and  there  came  the  rattling  of 
chains  as  if  the  effort  to  strike  were  spent  in  physical 
rage. 

"  I  have  come  to  deUver  thee,"  I  cried.  "  I  am  thv 
friend."  ' 

"  Friend  !  "  answered  the  voice.  "  I  have  no  friend 
save  memory  and  the  sea's  voice,  which  hath  spoken 
to  me  and  hath  kept  me  in  mine  own  mind  all  these 
years.  Stand  before  me,  Roderick,  thou  fiend!  till 
I  send  thee  to  thy  doom." 


'} 


$/! 


i6o 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADpS 


I  could  bear  no  more,  so  I  crept  through  the  opening, 
and  found  myself  in  a  small  cell  hewn  from  the  living 
rock,  save  on  the  side  where  I  had  come  in.  It  faced 
on  the  sea-wall,  where  the  tide,  now  high,  washed  at  mj 
feet,  sparkling  and  green  with  a  faint  gleam  of  light 
that  entered  from  under  the  outer  wall. 

Before  me  and  above,  where  the  water  lapped  on  a 
rude  ledge  or  shelf  of  the  rocks,  chained  by  a  large 
rusty  chain  to  a  great  ring  in  the  cavern  wall,  lay, 
or  rather  crouched,  what  seemed  to  be  an  old  man. 
He  partly  rose  at  my  approach,  his  wild  eyes  sunken 
in  his  gaunt  face,  like  two  expiring  torches,  and  his 
matted  hair  and  beard  grizzled  and  unkempt,  and  in  a  half 
moan  and  half  growl  menaced  me  with  his  manacled 
hands.  We  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  then 
seeing  that  I  bore  no  food,  and  looked  not  like  his 
ordinary  jailer,  he  turned  on  me  with  a  sort  of  pathetic 
wonder,  and  cried,  "  Who  art  thou  ?  Art  thou  a  spirit 
of  m>  youth  come  to  haunt  me  ?  "  and  there  was  that 
about  the  whole  nutn,  a  courage  of  strength  and  pride, 
that  stood  out  through  all  his  rags  and  nusery,  and 
his  hideous  condition,  which  had  lasted  all  those  years, 
and  which  sent  to  my  heart  a  great  pity,  and  a  fierce 
rage  of  indignation  that  such  a  one  should  have  endured 
all  this  at  the  hands  of  mine  own  kin. 

"  Ha !  I  know  thee ! "  he  now  cried.  "  I  ken  well 
thy  face.  Thou  art  the  spirit  of  that  Ian  of  my  youth, 
that  Ian  of  the  Orcades,  not  yon  devil  who  rules  over- 
head and  chains  me  here,  but  that  other  older,  but 


^h 


K 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  i6i 

false  self  of  his,  who  was  the  friend  of  my  youth,  who 
dwelt  with  me  in  my  far  western  glen,  which  I  shall 
see  no  more,  who  stole  my  sister's  heart,  soul,  and 
good  name,  as  the  sea  wind  stealeth  the  bloom  from 
the  flower,  and  then  left  her  to  die  in  "  far-off  place 
in  her  sadness  and  shame ;   yea !    thoa  art  that  very 
one,  and  could  I  but  get  at  thee,  I  would  crush  thee 
as  ocean  wrecks  a  weed."    And  he  flung  himself  at 
me  with  a  fierceness  that  would  have  boded  ill  for  me 
had  he  not  been  circtmiscribed  by  his  chains. 
"  Thou  art  mistaken,"  I  cried.    "  I  am  thy  friend." 
"  My  friend ! "  he  said,  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  and 
1  I  ™°''  quietly,  as  if  the  passion  in  him  had  its  ebbs 

and  flows.  "My  friend!  Yea,  Ian,  thou  wert  Donald's 
friend  in  those  days ;  even  if  thou  keepest  me  here  now, 
far  from  my  straths  and  glens,  and  the  wife  and  children 
of  my  youth ;  here  where  I  hunger  for  the  smoke  of 
I  shelling,   and  the  whistle  of  plover  at  mom;    here 

I  where  I  shall  stay  till  I  die."    Then  he  changed,  as 

if  his  madness  came  again  more  fiercely,  and  cried, 
"Roderick!  Roderick,  my  false  kinsman!  'twas 
thou  didst  this !  'Twas  thou  who  desiredst  my  chief- 
ship  !  Give  me,  Ian,  give  me  but  one  hour  to  stand 
before  this  damned  Roderick,  with  my  knife  in  hand, 
and  the  sea  and  sky  before  us,  and  I  will  forgive  thee 
uU."  , 

"  Thou  Shalt  have  it !  "  I  cried.    He  looked  at  me 
a  moment  as  if  dazed. 

"  Who  art  thou  then  ?    Art  thou  not  Ian  ?    Thou 
II 


iMlMMHWilUiB^aiaAldiBifilki^Ariiiii 


ite 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I        ; 
\      i 


CMift  not  be,  after  all  these  yean,  yet  my  poor  thooghte 
milled  me.  Who  art  thon  that  weanth  hia  loob  in 
this  place !  " 

"I  am  one,"  I  cried,  "who  like  thywlf  hath  no 
reason  to  love  this  place,  but  who  hath  foond  oat 
the  secret  of  this  thy  dread  abode,  and  who  cometb 
to  give  thee  thy  freedom." 

"  Freedom,"  he  cried.  "  Taunt  me  not !  Freedom  ! 
I  will  bless  thee,  bless  thee.  Bat  thoa  dost  bat  mock 
me.  Ten  long  winters  and  sonuners,  which  I  have 
marked  on  this  wall  with  my  chain,  have  I  endured 
this  place  through  the  ice  of  winter  and  the  scorch 
of  summer,  and  yet  have  not  died!  They  cannot 
kill  me.  'lis  my  thought,  mine  hunger  for  revenge 
hath  kept  me  alive.  In  all  this  time  I  have  prayed 
and  prayed  that  I  might  see  mine  own  place  and 
mine  own  loved  ones  once  again ;  and  I  would  have 
given  all,  yea,  even  my  pride  of  place,  my  lordship, 
for  this  one  boon;  but  it  hath  never  come.  Thou 
art  but  one  sent  to  mock  me ! "  And  his  eyes  sunk 
listless  in  their  sockets. 

"Nay,"  I  cried,  "'tis  indeed  true,  if  thou  wilt 
be  wise  and  keep  thy  counsel."  Then  I  told  him 
of  my  finding  the  secret  way  out,  and  of  the  wall, 
which  bang  in  a  dark  comer  was  not  so  easy  to  be 
seen.  Then  I  told  him  of  the  small  craft  in  the  cove 
outside.  He  Ustened  at  first  listlessly,  then  longingly ; 
and  then,  when  I  proceeded  to  speak  of  how  he  might 
escape,  he  broke  down  and  wept,  as  a  strong  man 


^ 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


163 


hope  after  long,  long  ye^n  of  despair  and 


\h1 


!ee  v'o 


win  who 
waiting. 

"  I  can  loaroe  underrtand  !  "  he  cried.    *'  Oh  ! 
of  heaven !  my  Moma  and  my  '   im«  f  I  shall 
after  aU ! " 

**  Boy  f "  he  cried  fiercely,  "  let  me  grasp  th^r  ^aIi.i  • 
Pear  me  not!  'Tis  long  since  I  have  held  hmm- 
hand  in  friend's  grasp.  See,  'tis  but  a  poor  \m^to  i 
talon.  They  have  cKpped  the  eagle's  claws."  Wh»n 
I  gave  him  my  hand  he  clung  unto  it.  "Boy,"  \e 
•aid,  "  for  I  see  thou  art  but  a  lad,  how  old  art  thou  ?  " 
And  when  I  told  him  I  was  scarce  nineteen,  he  said, 
."  And  thou  wilt  do  this  t  And  yet  thou  lookest  over- 
much  like  Ian  for  me  to  trust  thee !  Nay,  teU  me  true, 
this  is  not  some  trick,  some  new  ill  to  break  my  pride 

»nd  hope!    If  it  were !"he  said,  and  he  looked 

fiercely  at  me  ;  but  I  stood  calmly  and  kept  his  hand. 
*•  Nay,"  he  cried,  "  I  see  that  thou  art  true."  then  he 
released  me. 

"Bat  this,"  I  said,  giving  him  some  of  the  food 
I  had  brought.  "  It  wiU  comfort  thee,  for  thou  must 
have  all  thy  strength." 

"  Yea,"  he  said,  devouring  his  food  like  some  hungry 
animal.  "  But,  boy,  how  canst  thou  break  these  chains 
I  wear ! "  Then  I  told  him  how  I  was  friend  to  the 
armourer,  and  of  my  finding  out  his  prison  in  this  way. 

"  Yea,"  he  said,  "  the  grim  man  who  feedeth  me ! 
He  is  not  unkind,  save  that  he  is  a  duU  keeper  to  do 
what  he  is  bid.    But  the  other  one  !    He  was  a  devil ! 


164 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


Often  had  I  aohed  to  get  these  anna  about  him.  I 
would  have  crushed  him  as  if  he  were  a  fly,  as  I  did 
the  first  one.  That  one  went  over-much  beyond 
his  care  to  torment  me,  but  he  was  a  fool,  and  I  played 
that  I  was  weak  even  beyond  aid.  Then  he  came 
too  near,  and  then — ho,  ho !  my  rape  overcame  me, 
and  they  found  him  down  there  a  shapeless  mass, 
and  well  they  did,  or  I  had  been  dead  long  ago.  The 
second  one,  however,  who  took  his  place,  he  was  even 
worse." 
"  He  is  dead,"  I  cried,  "  and  by  my  hand." 
"  Then  thou  art  in  truth  bom  to  be  my  saviour !  " 
he  cried.  "  But  haste  thee,  lad,  or  that  blunt  keeper 
will  be  coming  down  and  will  find  thee." 

"  Keep  a  good  heart,"  I  answered.  "  Build  up  thy 
strength,  and  in  a  few  days  thou  wilt  be  a  free  man !  " 
and  wringing  his  hand  once  more,  I  crawled  through 
the  opening,  and  fixing  the  stones  roughly  in  their 
place.  I  went  up,  gained  mine  own  side  of  the  other 
wall,  and  arrived  in  my  room  in  time  to  hear  a  loud 
rapping  at  my  door. 


CHAPTER  XV 


rpHE  knocking  at  my  door  was   imperative,  and 
■^     opening  it  I  learned  that  the  castle  was  in  a 
wild  stir  of  excitement ;   for  the  earl  was  taken  with 
a  woeful  attack  of  his  malady,  on  hearing  that  a  party 
had  been  seen  marching  in  our  direction  to  lay  siege 
to  the  hold.    All  was  bustle  and  stir,  with  much  running 
of  feet  and  calling  of  orders  in  every  direction.    I  went 
out  on  the  battlements,  and  found  my  brother  Hugh, 
with  a  sterner  look  on  his  face  than  was  his  wont, 
overseeing  the  getting  of  the  castle  into  condition  to 
meet  the  approaching  enemy,  which  by  their  appear- 
ance were  said  to  be  under  the  pennons  of  the  princely 
Albany.    At  a  convenient  distance  from  where  he  was 
employed  stood  the  lady  countess,  veiled  and  cloaked 
in  black,  and  attending  her  in  similar  weeds  was  the 
Lady  Margaret  Seton. 

Whatever  might  have  been  my  plans  as  to  leaving 
the  castle,  they  were  now  put  quite  out  of  my  thoughts, 
and  I  went  about  studying  how  I  might  assist  in  this 
hour  of  danger,  and  best  help  in  the  work  of  defending 
the  hoki  of  my  ancestors.  Keeping  at  a  distance, 
•a  my  pride  dictated,  from  the  noble  dame  and  her 


i66 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


fair  wud,  I  approached  my  brother  Hugh,  and  asked 
him  to  give  me  some  part  in  the  coming  struggle. 
"  For,"  I  said,  "  whatever  sad  c^onnectiou  I  may  have 
with  this  house,  and  whatever  shame,  which  I  deny, 
may  be  brought  upon  it  by  my  presence,  I  am  not 
unmindful  of  the  blood-kinship  I  bear  to  you, 
and  if  I  cannot  live  here  within  these  walls  in 
peace  and  honour,  I  can  at  least  die  in  their  pro- 
tection." 

*'  Ian,"  he  answered,  "  there  may  be  those  things 
betwixt  us  which  should  not  be  betwixt  brothers,  but 
there  is  no  time  now  to  discuss  such  matters.  My 
eyes  are  more  opened  of  late  to  things  to  which  it 
were  better  they  had  not  formerly  been  blind,  and  it 
fears  me  that  great  wrongs  were  done  you  in  bringing 
you  to  this  place,  seeing  that  my  lady  mother  hath 
some  hate  for  you.  I  would  willingly  make  right 
to  you  what  is  your  due.  Once  this  danger  is  past 
I  will  speak  to  my  lady  mother  and  see  what  justice 
can  be  meted  out  to  you,  in  honour  to  my  father  and 
this  house,  for  I  fear  me  that  my  father  hath  not  long 
for  this  lite.  Meanwhile  there  is  little  to  do  here, 
save  to  keep  strict  watch  and  ward  against  treachery, 
and  with  a  firm  blade  to  meet  whatever  foe  my  devilish 
cousin  Albany  may  send  against  us." 

"  I  am  with  thee  to  the  death  in  this,"  I  answered. 
"  But  hadst  thou  not  better  try  and  come  to  some 
terms  with  this  same  Albany  !  " 

"  *TiB  strange,"  he  answered,  "  but  thou  coimsellest 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


167 


M  doth  my  kdy  mother.    But  it  may  not  be.    Mine 
honour  and  my  father's  honour  be  at  stake." 

••  But,"  I  said,  "  this  is  a  grave  matter  for  our  houae. 
I  like  not  our  uncle  Angus,  but  it  is  in  my  mind  that 
he  could  be  of  great  aid  to  thee  in  patching  this  matter 
over  Tith  Albany." 

"Why,  'tis  he  who  hath  counselled  me  to  what  I 
am  doing !  "  he  answered. 

"  How  now !  He  counselled  thee  to  dare  the  King's 
brother  ?  "  I  cried.  "  The  devil !  Hugh,  beware  of 
this  priest  uncle  of  ours ;  he  hath  a  hate  toward  thee 
and  thy  father  which  bodeth  ill  to  us  all !  Take  not 
his  counsel,  which  goeth  not  with  wisdom ;  but  hold 
this  siege  until  thou  canst  make  thy  peace  with  this 
powerful  prince,  whom  no  man  can  long  oppose  and 
keep  his  lonkhip." 

"Bline  uncle,"  returned  Hugh,  "hateth  me  not 
worse  than  I  him,  but  thou  wrongest  him  when  thou 
sayest  he  would  betray  this  houfo  to  Albany,  for  he 
well  knoweth  I  would  hang  him  high  from  this  battle- 
ment did  I  know  such  were  truth.  Moreover,  he 
hath  a  pride  of  the  family  which  keepeth  him  loyal. 
He  hath  talked  much  to  me  of  late,  and  methinks  he 
u  right  in  his  opinion  that  I  should  take  my  father's 
place  and  sustain  the  family  name  and  honour." 

"  Art  thou  sure  in  all  this  ?"  I  cried ;  for  I  saw 
the  net  into  which  he  in  his  folly  was  being  meshed. 

"  Yea,  I  am,  Master  Ian,"  he  answered  ;  "  for  know 
you  so  far  hath  he  shown  his  fealty  for  our  house, 


■ 


i68 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I  ! 


that  he  hath  even  offered,  if  I  defend  this  hold,  to  give 
himself  up  into  Albany's  power  as  a  hostage.  Could 
man  do  more  ?  " 

"He   hath   done   that?"    I   cried.    "Indeed,  dost 

thou  know ? "    I  was  going  to  say  more,  but  I 

remembered  I  could  not  tell  part  of  mine  uncle's 
treachery  unless  I  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  matter, 
and  that  Hugh,  if  indeed  he  beUeved  me,  in  his 
vengeance  might  go  so  far  that  I  dreaded  to  tell  him, 
and  was  in  truth  in  a  narrow  strait. 

"Well,  sirrah,"  cried  Hugh,  somewhat  fiercely, 
"  speak  on  !  Of  what  dost  thou  accuse  thine  imcle  ? 
Might  he  not  as  well  accuse  thee,  and  with  better  reason, 
that  thou  hast  cause  for  infidelity  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Hugh ! "  I  cried,  "  my  brother,  I  would  die 
for  thee.    Thou  art  grievously  mistaken  in  all  this." 

"  Wouldst  thou  ?  "  he  answered  ;  "  then  wherefore, 
thou  jealous  biter  of  nails,  hast  thou  cast  eyes  on  one 
who  is  far  above  thee  ?  " 

"Thou  art  my  brother,"  I  cried,  "but  thou  wilt 
yet  account  to  me  for  this !  "  For  it  went  beyond 
me  that  he  should  speak  in  such  manner  of  that  which 
should  have  been  beyond  speech  betwixt  us.  Yet 
what  he  said  was  but  too  true,  and  I  saw  that  mine 
uncle  Angus  had  been  priming  him  on  his  part. 

"Then  see  it,"  he  answered.  "Be  it  as  you  hke, 
yet  it  little  becometh  thee  to  cast  ill  words  against 
thine  uncle."  And  he  moved  off,  leaving  me  alone 
there  on  the  wall,  feeling  that  I  had  better  have  bitten 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


169 


my  tongue  out,  than  have  given  but  hints  where  I 
could  not  gpeak  the  whole  truth.  I  now  saw  a  new 
proof  of  the  prieat'a  clevemew  and  guile,  in  carrying 
his  evil  ends,  and  I  perceived  that  it  were  but  folly 
to  cope  with  him  who  kept  us  all  at  odds,  and  yet 
held  us  each  singly  in  his  power. 

Still  I  was  not  one  to  be  foiled,  for  I  was  desperate, 
and  I  saw  that  he  had  son>e  nev    leep  scheme  on  hand 
to  carry  out  what  I  knew  to  be    ^  secret  aim  ;   and 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  rather  die  than  that 
he  should  gain  his  point;    so  I  determined  to   stay 
here,  do  my  duty  amid  all  this  web  of  injustice,  and 
if  possible  save  these  proud,  unloving  folk  in  the  face 
of  their  own  folly.    My  brother's  doubt  of  my  truth 
to  him  but  determined  me  to  be  truer  to  him  than 
ever.    "  Biter  of  naib,  am  I?  "  I  said  to  myself .    "Thou 
wilt  yet  be  thankful  to  that  same  biter  of  naiU,   my 
proud  kinsman."    This  was  but  a  boy's  folly  in   me, 
but  there  was  a  sweet  pride,  even  in  my  dark  condition, 
which  prompted  me  to  give  back  good  for  iU  in  this 
matter.     I  was  not  unmindful  also  that  I  might  be  of 
aid  to  another,  who,  far  as  she  was  from  me  in  position, 
was  not  beyond  my  help.    I  thus  consoled  my  ruffled 
spirits,  but  Fate  was  not  done  with  me  even  yet.    There 
was  worse  to  come.    As  I  stood  there,  who  should 
touch  me  on  the  shoulder  but  mine  uncle  Angus.    I 
was  in  no  iiood  for  his  consolation,  so  I  shook  him  oH 
with  an  ill  grace  ;  but  he  felt  he  had  me  in  his  cwls  and 
gave  me  no  favour  in  his  words. 


I/O 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"Come,  mine  ill-nuuuieriy  Church  cub,"  he  cried, 
"  put  on  thy  beet  face,  thy  lady  would  fain  speak  with 
thee ! " 

"I  am  no  Church  cub,"  I  cried ;  then  remembering 
what  folly  it  was  to  quarrel  with  him,  I  remained  silent 
and  followed  to  where  my  lady  stood.  I  now  fully 
realised  that  his  object  was  to  humiliate  me  beyond  all 
forgetfnlness,  in  mine  own  eyes,  before  these  peojde ; 
and  especially  her  whom  I  thought  most  of,  and  thus 
cut  me  off  from  all  human  relations  for  his  own  purpose, 
and  the  more  devi!  ^h  was  his  plot  that  he  knew  that 
I  was  aware  of  it  >  All  this  only  the  more  maddened 
me  against  the  m.  .  especially  seeing  that  I  could 
have  no  redress.  I  n<  w  saw  that  mine  only  true  revenge 
was  in  foiling  these  »  ne  schemes  of  his,  but  to  do  this 
I  had  to  keep  mine  •  n  counsel.  So  I  remained  silent 
when  he  said  'vs  we  went,  "  So  thy  proud  brother  hath 
been  showing  thee  ,thy  place,  my  brave  swordsman !  " 
I  answered  naught,  and  by  a  hard  effort  kept  my  temper, 
though  I  could  have  smote  him  in  the  face  where  he 
walked,  had  I  dared.  When  we  approached  the  countess 
the  slight  figure  beside  her  was  for  withdrawing,  but 
the  countess  said,  "  Thou  needst  not  go,  my  lady,  'tis 
but  this  young  man  with  whom  I  would  have  a  few 
words,  then  will  we  go  to  my  lord,  who  needeth  us." 
So  the  slight  veiled  figure  stayed,  though  she  spake 
not  to  me  one  word,  nor  seemed  to  notice  me  more 
than  if  I  were  a  commtm  armsman  come  to  receive 
order*.  Mtd  I  knew  A  was  the  intention  of  the  lady 


\. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  171 

ooonteM,  who  probably  alao  had  word  of  my  foUy 
toward  her  ward,  to  further  lower  me  in  her  eyes. 

Hark  you,  sirrah,"  she  said  to  me  as  I  came  up, 
and  she  looked  in  her  dark  robe  like  some  proud  queen, 
"  know  you  that  this  time  of  danger  be  no  time  for 
skulkers  and  brawlers  in  this  castie,  where  even  our 
meanest  vassals  have  laid  their  hand  to  some  work." 

As  she  spake  I  could  feel  the  fierceness  of  her  hate 
and  high  scorn  bum  my  soul  Uke  a  blast  of  a  hot  desert 
wind,  and  I  saw  that  the  slight  figure  near  tiembkd 
for  an  instant  'neath  the  veil,  but  I  suppressed  my  woe, 
and  determined  to  meet  the  countess  as  proudly  as 
she  met  me. 

"Lady,"  I  cried,  "I  am  no  skulker  or  brawkr, 
as  thou  weU  knowest,  and  if  I  am  in  shelter  of  thes^ 
walls  at  this  present  time,  I  am  here  against  mine  own 
will,  and  at  thy  express  commands,  as  thou  well  knowest," 
and  I  said  this  somewhat  fiercely,  for  her  contem^ 
and  unjust  words  cut  me  to  the  heart,  and  I  could  not 
but  justify  me  in  the  presence  of  her  whose  opinion  I 
valued  more  than  all  else  in  the  wide  workL 

"Sirrah,  dost  thou  dare  I "  she  answered,  "dost 
thou  dare  beard  me  here,  thou  ingrate  ?  Thou  shalt 
be  punished.  Ho  there!"  she  cried,  turning  to  a 
man,  "  caU  up  the  armourer.  I  wiU  chain  this  youth 
to  this  wall  or  a  lower  one." 

"  Chain  me,  hang  me,  madam,  do  thy  worst,  I  care 
not,  further  thou  mayest  not  go,"  I  answered.  But 
here  the  priest,  seeing  perchance  that  my  humihatioa 


172 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


K 


had  gone  far  enough  for  hu  purposes,  put  his  vMoe 
in  and  said,  "  For  shame,  lady,  thou  wilt  not  do  this 
at  this  perilous  time  ?  "    3he  turned  on  him  fiercely. 

"  Thou !  "  she  cried,  "  thou,  sir  priest,  darest  thou 
meddle  with  me  ?  " 

"Madam,"  he  answered,  "he  belongeth  unto  Holy 
Church,  forget  not  that." 
"  And  what  of  that,  sir  priest  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  'Tis  an  ill  time,"  he  answered.  "  Thy  credit  that 
way  is  much  overdrawn  now,  as  thou  knowest ; "  and 
I  saw  that  he  had  influenced  her,  but  it  angered  me  to 
be  under  his  protection,  so  I  interrupted  fiercely — 

"I  am  no  Churchman,  I  am  mine  own  man,  as  thou 
well  knowest." 

"  Then  if  thou  art,  thou  must  e'en  hang  alone ! " 
he  answered,  with  his  ill  smile.  "  But,  my  lady,  were 
it  not  better  to  put  this  same  forward  youth  to  some 
hard  practical  labour,  where  we  may  profit  by  his 
presence,  and  rob  him  of  much  of  this  arrogance  that 
tumeth  his  head."    And  turning  to  me,  he  said — 

"  Thou  most  boastful  youth,  in  all  that  pertaineth 
to  arms  and  practical  matters,  what  canst  thou  do  ?  " 
His  sudden  question  puzzled  me  for  a  moment,  for 
beyond  my  book-lore  I  was  as  bare  of  accomplishments 
as  a  youth  could  well  be,  and  I  stood  in  a  quandary 
thinking  how  I  should  answer,  when  my  eye  caught  the 
figure  of  my  friend  the  smith  and  armourer,  just  come 
up  at  the  lady  countess  s  order  to  be  my  executioner. 
An  idea  struck  me,  and  I  mamr&ed,  loddng  at  my 


yj*f.^«^.- 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  173 

1^7,  "I  know  one  trade  indifferent  well,  I  can  do 
smith's  work,  as  yon  armourer  can  testify  doth  he 
love  me." 

"  Yea,  my  lady,"  said  the  armourer,  "  I  am  much 
m  need  of  aid,  now  that  every  blade  and  heft  of  the 
castle  seemeth  on  my  hands,  and  the  lad  hath  a  right 
strong  and  deft  hand  and  arm  for  a  Church  clerk." 

"  Yea,"  said  her  ladyship.  "  he  shaU  be  thine  ap- 
prentice,  see  that  he  shirketh  not  at  his  toil ;  "  and  with 
a  scornful  side-look  at  me.  she  turned  and  went  down. 

This  sudden  come-down  of  all  my  fortunes,  though 
part  of  mine  own  making  to  get  rid  of  mine  uncle  and 
his  schemes,  yet  jarred  sadly  on  my  pride,  so  that  I 
could  scarce  move,  and  ere  I  could  think  I  was  alone 
m  the  now  coming  dusk  of  the  northern  night.    I  looked 
about  me,  and  over  the  turrets  and  bastions  on  one  side 
oomed  the  biUows  of  the  wild  ocean,  angered  by  the 
late  autumn  season,  and  on  the  other  side  the  wild 
fastness  of  heather-clad  hiU«  and  distant  mountains 
of  the  south  and  west.    "  'Tis  a  fit  setting  to  my  life." 
I  cned.  and  I  turned  me  sadly  and  started  to  go  down 
for  I  felt  that  toil  were  better  than  thoughte  such  as 
mine,  when  suddenly  I  felt  someone  pluck  at  my  coat 
and  I  turned  me  about,  and  there  in  the  dusk  stood  the 
Lady  Margaret. 

"Keep  up  thy  courage  !  "  she  whispered.  "  remember 
If  aU  else  fails  thou  hast  one  friend."  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  My  passion  overmastered  me  at  her 
kind  words  and  sight  of  her  sweet  face.  1  was  on  my 


I 


174 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


knees  to  her,  and  preeied  my  Hpe  to  her  hand.  Then 
•he  leemed  to  remember  the  diierenoe  betwixt  vm, 
for  she  drew  back  with  hauteur  and  said  ladly— 

"  Sir,  you  must  not !  " 

"Madam,"  I  cried,  "I  thank  yon  for  your  kind 
words  and  condescension  toward  one  like  me." 

"Keep  thy  heart  and  be  worthy  of  thyself,"  she 
answered,  and  ere  I  could  collect  myself  she  was  gone. 
Then,  with  a  heart  beating  with  many  mingled  emotions, 
and  wild  thoughts  which  I  dare  not  look  into  too  closely, 
I  hurried  down  to  the  armourer's  cell,  and  was  soon 
merrily  beating  in  unison  with  my  worthy  friend  and 
master  at  the  ringing  blades  of  steel. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
^Y  toa  with  my  friend  and  nutrter  the  i«nou«r 
•  httle  of  what  WM  going  on  in  the  c«tle ;  «id  it^ 

do  i^httle  tune  to  wony  over  mine  own  portion  «id 

that  w«e  man  my  marter.  who  wm  .  ririit  3i 
-rvant  to  my  lo«i.  commended  me  I^i^on"^ 
choice  betwixt  hi.  and  a  churchly  calling^  7  <«  my 

"  For  what  hath  a  youth  Kke  thee  do  to  with  m«.e.  ? '• 

tll^r"  ^'"^  "^  ^'^^  the  fire  fi«:n^ 

K  uT'  ^"  *^'  ™^^  ^''^  ""tW  and  gleamed 

wlulehe  tucked  them  <»mlortabIy  iu  with  coal.*^ 

m*ker  of  bhwke  and  «Dear-he«Ai  .n^  ♦!.     .^ 
•M.  4^  u  XXI    •      ,       ^^  ^*"'  •"**  t"«n  thou  canft 
nde  to  battle  m  thy  ford'a  tnun,  and  e'en  t^  ^ 
own  workmanship  on  his  foes    asTl^  . 

worthy  smith  d»<Jdd .»         '°«''  "  »  «ood  man  and 

But  my  nund  was  too  fuU  of  thought,  of  mine  own 
^p.y  much  heed  to  the  worthy  smith's  maxiT 
for  I  had  se«et  plans  lor  ridding  him  of  hisl^ 


L 


/(^ 


MICtOCOPY  RBOUITION  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^    APPLIED  IM^GE 


1653  Eojt  Main  Street 

Rochester.  New  York       U609       USA 

(716)   «82  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)  288  -  S989  -  Fo« 


176 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


\\  ■ 

IT 
If-     \. 


i 

If  '^ 


below,  and  had  he  known  what  was  really  in  my  mind, 
as  I  stood  there  beating  the  hot  iron  and  making  ohe 
sparks  fly  on  his  anvil,  he  would  have  been  more  like 
than  blessing  me  to  have. treated  me  as  Saint  Swithin 
did  that  great  enemy  of  mankind,  when  the  latter, 
on  some  similar  treachery  bent,  had  entered  the  pre- 
cincts of  his  charmed  forge. 

However,  I  had  no  time  to  consider  mine  imfair- 
ness  to  the  honest  smith,  for  I  had  much  to  do  and 
much  to  consider.  The  troops  sent  by  Albany  had 
dwindled  down  into  a  few  men-at-arms  and  a  squire 
commanded  by  one*  knight,  who  duly  appeared  before 
the  castle,  and,  demanding  admittance  in  the  King's 
name,  had  formally  delivered  a  message  commanding 
the  lord  earl,  for  his  great  crimes,  especially  that  of 
foully  murdering  the  lord  bishop,  to  appear  in  person, 
xmder  the  direct  penalties  of  Ufe  and  property,  at  the 
royal  Court  at  Stirling,  one  month  from  thence,  to 
answer  for  his  ill  to  the  great  Prince  Albany.  This 
the  lord  earl  had,  in  opposition  to  his  countess's  will, 
but  secretly  instigated,  I  believe,  by  the  false  priest, 
risen  in  person  to  answer  in  a  defiant  manner;  the 
political  result  of  which  was  to  bring  sure  ruin  on  his 
house,  but  the  physical  effect  was  the  shortening  of  his 
Ufe. 

As  I  was  not  present  at  this  scene,  the  interview 
with  the  ambassador,  and  only  had  it  from  the  words 
of  others,  I  cannot  give  it  in  detail  here,  though  it  had  a 
dread  effect  of  a  most  tragic  nature  on  me  and  others, 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  177 

and  brought  about  aU  those  iU  ends  that  the  scheming 
pnest  had  so  much  at  heart  to  accomplish.    It  seemed 
in  short,  that  the  news  of  the  knight's  approach  and 
demand  were  carried  at  once  by  mine  uncle  to  the  earl 
in  his  sick  chamber,  and  where,  in  the  detail,  he   for 
his  own  purposes,  repeated  in  full  all  of  the  arrogant 
demand,  omitting  none  of  its  most  insulting  threats 
and  denunciations.    So  that  the  earl,   being  incensed 
even  beyond  his  natural  passion  and  bound  of  control 
had  had  himself  borne  into  his  great  hall  by  his  retainers' 
and  there,  rising  from  liis  sick  couch,  overborne  by 
rage  and  pride  at  the  nature  of  the  message  sent  him 
with  swollen  veins  and   blazing  eyes  sent  back  the 
royal  niandate  of  the  puissant  Albany  in  such  strong 
and  defiant  terms,  and  couched  in  such  treasonable 
and  bitter  language,  as  in  which  only  some  heathen 
Emi^ror   might   return   to   an   overbearing   Pope  his 
mandate  of   submission.    When   he   had    finished   he 
raised  himself  up,  and  with  clenched  fists  went  off 
into  one  of  his  iU-fits,  where  he  lay  as  if  dead,  and  was 
so  borne  back  to  his  chamber.    It  was  said  that  the 
kmght,  a  sinister  looking  man,   a  Sir  Something-or- 
other,  at  first  stood  there  smiHng  an  ill  smile  at  his 
page,  as  if  wondering  at  the  earl's  foolhardy  audacity  • 
but  that  as  he  went  on  the  sly  smile  changed  to  a  look 
of  covert  fear,  and  even  terror;  and  when  dismissed 
he  was  m  much  haste  to  leave  the  castle.    I  also  heard 

d^nHT  T'!  ^^'  "^°  '^^  "^^^  ''^  ^-  «"«-ce 
dunng  the  whole  scene,  did  much  afterward  to  explain 


178 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


i 


i 

■  ■■  i 


<•  I 


■^1 
V  ■' 


)  I 


or  pretend  to  explain,  away  the  words  of  his  brother,  and 
apologise  for  what  he  called  the  earl's  state  of  madness ; 
but  that  on  the  other  hand  Hugh  treated  the  knight  with 
but  short  words  and  stem  manner,  and  made  no  single 
attempt  to  palliate  his  father's  message  to  the  princely 
Albany ;  the  result  being  that,  whih  the  knight  went  away 
with  some  sort  of  sympathy  for  the  polite  priest,  he 
carried  back  but  a  poor  account  of  the  surly  son  of  so 
headstrong  and  renegade  a  father.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  this  was  the  direct  cause  of  the  siege  that  was 
brought  against  us  afterwards,  and  fastened  upon 
Hugh  the  hate  and  vengeance  of  our  cousin  Albany. 
Such  during  the  following  days  was  the  condition 
of  matters  in  the  castle  of  my  fathers,  where  I  was 
now  installed  as  armourer's  apprentice,  and  where 
in  that  capacity  I  was  abready  meditating  the  breaking 
of  the  chains  of  its  most  important  prisoner.  Twice 
since  I  had  discovered  him  had  I  found  time  to  pay 
him  a  visit,  during  which  I  had  been  preparing  him 
for  that  Uberty  he  had  despaired  of  so  long,  and  which 
he  even  now  still  doubted  as  finally  to  be  accomplished, 
so  accustomed  does  the  mind  become  to  the  base  con- 
ditions of  an  habitual  hopelessness.  It  was  on  the 
even  after  the  departure  of  the  envoy,  and  the  hurry 
and  bustle  of  the  castle  for  what  was  expected  in  the 
way  of  siege  gave  me  lebure  and  chance  to  set  my 
prisoner  at  liberty.  I  had  tried  the  small  vessel  on 
the  water,  but  was  too  unaccustomed  to  such  a  craft, 
or  to  any,  for  that  matter,  to  venture  in  it ;  but  the 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  179 

prisoner,  who  claimed  to  have  been  used  to  such  crafts 
on  his  native  lochs  and  streams,  haUed  it  with  delight 
as  a  safe  mode  of  deliverance, 

"My  son,"  he  said,  when  after  some  labour  I  had 
reUeved  him  of  his  chains  and  clothed  him  with  garments 
which  I  had  procured,  "  I  can  never  bless  thee  enough  •  » 

"Stay  not  for  blessing,"  I  cried,  "or  thou  wilt 
curse  us  both  do  they  find  us  here.  FoUow  me,  and 
fear  not !  " 

But  so  long  had  he  been  in  a  crouched  position  that 
he  had  in  somewhat  lost  the  firm  use  of  his  Umbs   so 
that  all  he  could  do  was  to  crawl  and  stagger  along- 
but  I  knew,  and  he  knew,  that  aU  that  he  wanted  wa^ 
the  fresh  air  and  the  exercise  of  his  outdoor  Ufe  to 
brmg   him    back   to   his   former   strength.    "Once    I 
am  in  the  open,"  he  said,  "I  will  be  mine  own  self 
agam ; »  and  with  a  swift  persistence  he  foUowed  me 
out  and  down  to  the  water's  edge,  where,  without  my 
assistance,  to  my  surprise  he  launched  the  boat  and 
grasped  the  paddle,  as  he  caUed  it,  with  a  celerity  and 
ease  that  made  me  marvel. 

"  My  son  and  brother,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  no  moment 
to  tarry  for  words.  Thou  hast  done  that  for  me  I 
can  never  forget,  but  from  what  thou  hast  let  fall  in 
thy  conversation  it  hath  come  to  me  that  there  is 
that  betwixt  us  which  thou  httle  knowest  of,  and  which 
added  to  this  humane  act  of  thine  doth  make  us  one 
for  ever!  As  I  have  told  thee,"  he  continued,  "I 
am  of  an  old  and  kingly  line.    My  people  were  princes 


i8o 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


in  the  West  when  these  present  monarchs  were  not 
known,  and  I  hold  it  no  honour  that  the  father  of  my 
father's  father  did  marry  on  this  so-called  royal  line. 
But  this  is  to  little  account,  save  that  I  have  some 
small  power  with  this  man  they  call  Albany,  who  hath 
honour  to  be  of  common  blood  with  my  family.  I  can 
speak  no  more ;  but  take  this,"  and  he  gave  into  my 
hand  a  curious  small  stone,  graven  with  some  strange 
marks  on  one  side.  "  If  thou  ever  wantest  mine  aid," 
he  said,  "go  up  the  strath  beyond  the  castle  till  thou 
seest  a  large  bare  hill  which  standeth  by  itself,  and  on 
it,  in  a  hollow,  a  la^ge  square  stone.  Leave  this  there 
on  that  stone,  and  come  back  in  one  day  and  a  night 
and  thou  shalt  hear  word  of  me.  Now  fare  thee  well !  " 
And  ere  I  could  answer  he  dipped  )  is  paddle  in  the 
water  and  was  gone.  I  stood  for  a  few  moments  lost 
in  amazement,  now  that  he  had  var-skeJ,  at  what 
1  had  done,  and  though  I  would  have  done  it  again  had 
it  been  in  my  power,  yet  now  that  it  was  over  I  could 
not  help  feeling  as  if  I  had,  in  a  manner,  been  lacking  in 
faith  to  mine  house,  for  so  strong  are  the  ties  of  blood 
that  we  are  not  thought  to  have  any  feehngs,  even  those 
of  pity  or  mercy,  which  are  at  variance  with  the  feud 
duties  to  the  house  of  our  lord. 

Having  tried  to  give  my  weakness  somewhat  of  an 
honourable  appearance,  without  much  success,  I  re- 
traced my  steps,  and  as  I  went  up  the  stairway,  there 
in  the  passage  I  met  mine  uncle  Angus  face  to  face. 
We  stood  there  for  some  short  space,  each  of  us  taken 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  i8i 

sudden  and  ill  at  ease,  but  he  was  the  first  to  find  his 
speech  and  self-confidence. 

"  WeU,  sirrah,"  he  said  fiercely,  "so  thou  hast  been 
spying  on  my  room."  Then,  as  if  remembering  himself 
he  added,  "  Thou  hast  but  little  to  gain  here,  'tis  but  the 
pnvate  place  where  a  poor  priest  who  loveth  the  sea  and 
his  own  thoughts  may  come  and  muse." 

But  I  was  bound  to  show  him  that  I  knew  the  full 
depths  of  his  treachery,  so  I  answered  with  a  meaning 
look  "The  better  that  thou  mayest  muse  in  safety 
by  the  sea's  edge,  I  have  rid  thee  of  that  craft  in  which 
thou  wert  wont  to  go  abroad  on  its  bosom." 

"  How  knowest  thou  ?  What  craft  ?  "  he  demanded 
as  if  in  anger.  Then  he  said,  "  'Tis  not  worth  while  to 
waste  words  with  such  as  thee  when  graver  matters  are 
at  stake.  Oh,  thou  fool,"  he  continued,  "  thou  hast 
made  a  bad  mess  of  things  with  thy  meddling.  But 
what  carest  thou  that  a  great  house  like  this  is  on  the 
bnnk  of  ruin  ?  " 

"  'Tis  Uttle  thou  carest !  "  I  cried,  as  T  followed  him 
up  a  similar  stair  to  that  of  mine,  which  opened  into  a 
trap  in  the  floor  of  his  chamber. 

"Hearken,  thou  marplot."  he  cried  as  we  ascended, 
here  is  ill  news  for  one  who  careth !  The  eari,  thy 
father,  be  dying ;  thy  brother  Hugh  by  his  obstinate  pride 
be  as  good  as  dead  "  (rather  by  thy  treacherous  counsel, 
thought  I  m  my  heart) ;  «  but,"  he  continued.  "  this  fair 
lady,  who,  like  another  Helen,  fires  this  little  Troy  is 
soon  to  be  taken  back  to  Court,  where  thy  fool  eyes  will 


is.     : 


Mi 

<,  i 

i 


Ml 


^\ 


182 


/i42V  OF  THE  ORCADES 


never  see  her  more  ;  and  what  will  be  left  to  thee  but  to 
beat  apprenticeship  to  yon  brute  armourer,  who  ham- 
mereth  his  iron  beneath  ?  " 

"  Better  that,"  I  answered,  "  with  a  good  conscience 
than  the  power  of  a  tyrant  or  plotter,"  and  I  turned 
to  follow  him  up,  when  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I 
had  left  the  door  of  my  room  barred  on  the  inside. 
There  was  now  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do,  and  that  was 
to  go  back  and  leave  him  to  suspect  what  he  liked  of  me 
in  the  matter ;  and  I  was  so  sick  of  the  man  that  I  cared 
little,  and  I  had  had  enough  of  his  presence.  But  he 
said,  "  Wait,  Master  Ian,  I  would  speak  further  with 
thee." 

"  Well,  make  short  thy  counsel,"  I  cried,  "  for  it  hath 
done  me  little  save  ill  so  far." 

"  Say  rather  thy  refusal  to  abide  by  it,"  he  answered ; 
then  this  strange  uncle  of  mine  made  his  last  effort  to 
get  round  me  by  a  power  of  his  glamour.  "  Ian,"  he 
cried,  placing  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  "  dost  thou  not 
see  that  'neath  his  rough  exterior,  and,  perchance,  ill 
speech,  thine  uncle  Angus  hath  thy  good  at  heart  1 " 
And  he  spake  so  much  in  his  old  complacent  manner, 
and  he  wore  such  a  fine  assumption  of  kindly,  almost 
affectionate,  rebuke,  and  appeal  in  voice  and  manner, 
that  had  I  not  known  his  wiles,  and  judged  him  rather 
by  his  cold  furtive  eye,  I  would  have  believed  him  to  be 
that  kind,  misunderstood,  fatherly  priest  that  he  would 
have  himself  appear.  But  I  shook  him  off.  "  Nay  ! 
mine  uncle,"  I  answered,  "  thou  and  I  are  rot  to  walk 


li 


*"    .vi 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  183 

together  in  this  buainesa,  for  I  would  have  thee  under- 
stand that  thy  ways  are  not  mine,  nor  mine  thine. 
Thy  love  for   ae,  which  thou  dost  protest  so  strongly 
IS  but  that  of  the  toper  for  the  wine  cask  when  the  wine  is 
in,"  and  I  made  as  to  go. 

"Stay,"   he  commanded,    "one   word   more,   thou 
perverse  fool.    I  would  have  made  thee  great,  I  would 
have  given  thee  thine  own ;  but  thou  hast  scorned  me 
and  aU  for  the  false  fancy  of  sickly  bastard  honour  and  a 
pink-and-white  sUp  of  a  girl.    Now  dread  my  vengeance ! 
Dost  thou  know  this  headstrong  earl  is  ended,  thy 
brother  but  a  boy  without  wit  or  guile,  that  even  now 
the  troops  of  Albany  come  this  way  to  take  the  mad 
earl  ?    Then  what  will  be  thy  part  ?    Hast  thou  no 
part  to  play  ?    Or  wilt  thou,  who  claimest  all  this 
possession  and  power,  sink  them   to  the   toil   of  an 
armourer's  apprentice,  and  will   he  who  hath  aspired 
to  the  love  of  the  King's  ward  content  him  to  stay  below 
m  safety,  and  beat  steel  for  braver  folk  to  defend  her  " 

"  I  care  not  for  thy  taunts  !  "  I  cried.  "  I  will  carry 
me  as  circumstance  and  my  natural  valour  direct  me 
in  this  castle,  where  I  am  of  little  account.  Let  the 
danger  come  which  thou  so  weU  lovest  to  prophesy 
and  I  will  know  how  to  meet  it  as  becometh  my  man- 
hood !  And  with  that  I  turned  on  my  heel  and  went 
down  agam.  while  he  stood  staring  in  some  astonish- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


i  : 


l* 


THAT  day  I  absented  myself  from  my  accustomed 
place  at  the  forge  in  the  armourer's  cell ;  and  the 
next  day,  on  descending  to  my  work,  fearing  to  meet 
the  smith's  discovery  of  the  escape  of  his  prisoner,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  the  fire  out,  and,  instead  of  ham- 
mering away  at  the  bright  steel,  my  friend  and  master 
in  great  confusion  of  countenance,  bestirring  himself  as 
if  making  ready  for  a  long  journey. 

"  What  meaneth  this  ? "  I  cried,  for  I  saw  that  he 
was  hoping  to  have  avoided  me,  and  to  have  got  away 
ere  mine  entrance.  But  he  eluded  my  question,  and 
kept  hard  at  work  on  his  preparations  with  an  averted 
face,  as  though  he  feared  I  would  read  his  secret  with 
mine  eyes.  "Look  here,  master  smith,"  I  cried, 
assuming  a  tone  unmeet  tor  my  position  as  his 
assistant,  but  quite  in  keeping  with  mine  own  station 
as  one  interested  in  the  welfare  of  the  castle  on  the  eve 
of  an  expected  siege.  "  What  meaneth  this  ?  I  come  to 
aid  thee  in  thy  work  and  I  see  thy  fire  is  out,  thy  anvil 
silent,  and  thy  hammer  laid  aside,"  and  I  caught  him 
by  the  shoulder.  Then  his  manner  changed,  and 
dropping  the  bundle  he  was  making  of  some  special  tools 

184 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


185 


valuable  to  his  trade,  he  confronted  me  with  a  sullen  and 
dogged  manner. 

"  It  meaneth  but  one  thing  to  me,  my  bold  master," 
he  replied.  "  My  prisoner  is  flown  or  vanished  ;  as  his 
keeper  I  am  answerable  for  him  with  my  life,  and  as  I 
cannot  produce  his  body  to  show  that  he  be  dead,  'tis  best 
for  me,  knowing  the  fierce  earl  and  the  people  of  this  hold, 
to  be  gone  myself,  ere  I  be  pinned  with  arrows  to  the 
beam  in  the  castle  wall,  or  be  made  to  dance  on  naught 
in  an  hempen  collar." 

"  But  is  it  likely,"  I  questioned,  "  that  any  but  thou 
will  discover  for  some  time  the  disappearance  of  this 
man  ?  "  For  I  could  find  nothing  else  to  say,  nor  could 
I  at  the  moment  simulate  surprise  at  the  man's  dis- 
appearance ;  and  I  continued,  "  The  earl  is  dying,  so 
they  say,  and  the  rest  of  the  folk  who  know  have  much 
to  think  of  beside  this  matter." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  true  all  the 
same  that  I  should  be  going,  ere  the  earl  thinks  to  make 
inquiries." 

"  How  now,  my  master !  "  I  said,  "  is  it  honest  for 
thee  to  leave  this  place  at  this  time,  when  so  much 
dopendeth  on  thee,  when  it  is  like  that  a  long  siege, 
the  gravest  perchance  known  in  its  history,  is  about 
to  beset  its  walls,  and  thy  knowledge  and  skiU  wiU  be 
needed  every  hour  ?  Is  it  right  and  faithful  for  thee 
to  forsake  it  in  such  an  hour  ?  " 
^^  "  As  for  that,"  he  answered,  with  some  impudence, 
"  I  am  but  a  poor  smith,  versed  only  in  metals  and  tWnr 


t* 


«  , 


x86 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


temper,  letving  such  things  u  faith  and  honour  to  cl«rka 
and  others  such  as  thou  art.    'Tis  but  for  me  to  know 
that  when  the  edge  is  worn  the  blade  is  useless,  that 
when  the  blade  is  snapped  the  hilt  is  but  fit  to  cast  away  • 
and  this  teacheth  me  to  know  that,  anide  from  my  fear 
of  pumshment  for  loss  of  this  prisoner,  'tis  time  for  wise 
folk  to  leave  this  castle.    This  earl,  as  thou  sayest,  will 
8oon  be  gone.    His  son  is  but  a  hot-headed  lad,  who 
hath  his  father's  madness,  without  his  gravity  of  experi- 
ence ;  and  this  dread  priest,  thine  uncle,  is  Uke  to  turn 
this  hold  into  a  monkery ;  so  that  where  be  my  trade  to 
find  a  use  ?    Then,  if  the  Lord  Albany  taketh  this  place 
he  may  hang  me  ere  he  findeth  out  mine  ability.    So 
it  is  imperative  that  I  find  a  new  master  ere  I  lose  this 
one,  and  as  matters  stand  it  behoves  me  to  make  mine 
exit.    Therefore,  stand  aside,  master,"  he  continued ; 
"or  better,  for  I  have  a  liking  for  thee,  lad,  come  thou 
with  me,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  thy  place  in  this  hold 
be  but  a  poor  «nd  unhappy  one." 

Now  I  could  not  but  admit  to  myself  that  there  was 
much  truth  and  sense  in  this  selfish  reasoning  of  the 
master  armounr,  and  I  could  not  but  be  struck  by  his 
kindly  offer  to  make  me  of  his  company,  and  added 
to  this  I  had  a  Kking  for  the  man  and  should  feel 
his  absence  sorely.    But  at  the  same  time  I  judged 
that  he  lacked  that  higher  moral  sense  of  his  duty 
and  of  care  for  the  safety  of  the  castle,  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  detain  him  if  possible.    So  I  said, 
"  But,  sirrah,  thy  will  may  be  as  thou  sayest,  and  thy 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  187 

WMOM  for  leaving  be  strong,  but  how  mayest  thou  get 
thyself  out  of  this  hold  without  thy  flight  being  dis- 
covered  ? " 

"As  for  that,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  a  privileged 
man,  being  master  armourer  here  these  many  years, 
so  that  I  have  liberty  to  come  and  go  from  this  place 
mto  the  country  on  certain  duties  pertaining  to  my 
craft  and  other  matters ;  so  that  none  wiU  suspect  till 
I  am  well  out  of  their  reach  and  am  safe  in  the  Lord 
Albany's  protection."    To  this  I  had  no  answer,  for  I 
saw  that  he  had  cleverly  foreseen  aU,  aa  he  had  said, 
and  that  his  past  liberty  and  faithfulness  would  now 
enable  him  to  escape  without  suspicion.    But  I  had 
one  argument  left  to  confront  him  with,  and  had  kept 
It  until  the  last,  as  I  had  not  the  courage  to  use  it  at 
first. 

^^  "  This  may  be  all  very  well,  my  good  smith,"  I  said, 

"  but  thou  hast  not  counted  on  my  knowledge  of  this 

matter.    Thou  weU  sayest  I  am  not  happy  in  this 

castle,  but  for  all  that,  being  kin  to  the  lord  thereof, 

and  knowing  the  value  of  thy  trade  to  its  safety  at  this 

time,  I  teU  thee  that  if  thou  dost  not  put  yon  bundle 

Mide  aud  get  thee  to  work,  I  will  go  at  once  to  the  Lord 

Hugh  and  mform  him  of  tixe  whole  matter."    To  my 

astonishment  and  chagrin  ne  turned  on  me  and  laughed 

in  my  face.    "  Nay  but  thou  wUt  not,"  he  said   "  my 

bold  sir,  for  then  it  might  be  asked  how  did  my  prisoner 

escape,  and  I  might  remember  that  thou  wert  privy 

to  knowledge  of  his  place  of  confinement,  and  alone 


il 


i88 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


i 


•  \ 


S 


had  access  to  this  room  wherein  is  the  opening  to  his 
ceU.  Were  I  to  teU  how  thou  didst  express  strong 
s/mpathy  with  his  condition,  it  might  go  harder  with 
thee  than  with  myself." 

At  this  I  s;jod  as  if  confounded,  not  without  some 
anger,  for  I  saw  that  he  had  a  good  inkUng  of  the  truth, 
or  at  least  enough  of  it  to  close  my  mouth  and  cast  the 
blame  of  his  goin^,-  on  my  shoulders.  He  also  gave  me 
a  feeling  that  I  had  been  guilty  of  putting  him  in  danger 
as  a  consequence  of  mine  act.  Seeing  my  confusion, 
he  continued,  "  It  were  better  for  thee  as  well  as  myself 
that  I  were  gone.,  Then  aU  the  blame  would  fall  on 
me,  whereas  if  I  stayed,  thou,  being  my  assistant, 
mightst  fall  under  the  same  accusation." 

At  this  subtle  reasoning,  for  all  my  worry  and  con- 
fusion, I  could  not  help  but  smUe.    "  Master  smith," 
I  said,  "  thou  hast  a  fine  array  of  words  for  a  man  of 
metal,  and  some  fine  sense  of  reason  for  all  thy  dulness. 
It  may  be  true,  all  that  thou  hast  said,  and  to  which  I 
have  no  answer ;  but  I  cannot  but  feel  that  it  is  an 
ill  time  for  so  good  a  craftsman  as  thou  art  to  go  over 
to  the  enemy,  knowing,  as  thou  dost,  all  the  weak  places 
and  secret  defences  of  this  hold.    But  as  thou  art 
resolved  on  thi^  and  as  I  may  not  hinder  thee,  I  would 
have  thee  promise  not  to  say  whence  thou  comest, 
and  that  thou  shalt  not  give  thy  skill  in  building  engine^ 
or  driving  bolts  against  these  walls.    Dost  thou  but 
promise  this,  and  I  will  wish  thee  God-speed." 
"Well  hast  thou  considered  and  spoken,  my  good 


'^ 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


189 


master,"  he  answered,  "  and  it  only  grieves  me  that  I 
cannot  have  thy  company  on  the  road,  and  the  pleasure 
of  making  a  good  armourer  out  of  thee  in  the  place 
where  I  shall  go,  for  it  is  mine  aim  to  go  straight  to  the 
Court,  where  my  skiU  wiU  have  better  chance  of  being 
proven  than  it  getteth  in  this  dull  place.  And,"  he 
continued,  "  I  am  not  leaving  this  hold  without  a  smith, 
for  do  I  not  leave  thee,  who  hath  already  much  skill 
for  the  coarser  making  and  the  mending  thereof." 
Even  in  this  time  hia  pride  in  his  skill  could  not  but 
give  him  this  patronage  of  my  lesser  experience. 

"My  good  armourer,"  I  answered,  "it  is  my  deter- 
imnation  to  hold  thy  place  here  tUl  a  better  doth  come  ; 
and  in  mine  humble  way  try  to  make  good  thine 
absence."  With  that  he  shook  my  hand,  we  wished 
each  other  God-speed,  and  I  parted  from  him,  the  one 
soul  with  whom  I  had  aught  in  common,  in  but  sad 
condition  of  heart.  Neither  of  us  knew  of  the  tragic 
circumstances  under  which  we  should  next  meet; 
but  I  reaUsed  with  some  heaviness  of  spirit  and  qualmi 
of  conscience  that  in  letting  loose  the  prisoner  I  had 
caused  his  guard  to  disappear  also. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TT  was  not  for  many  hours  after  his  departure 
that  the  armourer  was  missed,  and  not  untU 
some  time  had  passed  was  he  suspected  of  desertion. 
Then,  though  a  party  was  sent  out  in  search,  it  was 
too  late,  and  no  trace  of  him  could  be  found. 

Meanwhile  I  had  striven  to  the  best  of  my  abiUty 
to  take  his  place,  and  I  soon  found  that,  though  by 
no  means  a  skilful  metallurger,  yet  I  was  somewhat 
more  than  an  indifferent  welder  of  handles  and  temperer 
of  blades ;  and  I  found  a  resource  against  my  loneUness 
and  sad  thoughts  in  this  occupation,  which,  while 
It  built  me  up  into  a  more  sturdy  frame  of  body,  gave 
me  also  a  more  healthful  trend  of  spirit. 

When  it  became  a  common  knowledge  that  I  was 
the  master  armourer  of  the  castle,  my  advice  was 
caUed  mto  requisition  as  to  the  repairing  and  putting 
m  order  of  the  great  cross-bolts  which  were  on  the 
battlements-those  engines  of  war  by  which  we  send 
great  stones  among  the  enemy,  and  which  are  therefore 
of  much  value  in  the  defence  of  a  fortress  such  as 
Gimigoe. 

Now  here  my  knowledge  did  not  go  so  far.  save  to 

190 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  191 

strengthen   beams,    hy  adding  to  or  replacing  iron 
clamps  and  bolts  with  which  they  were  held  together 
But  for  the  placing  of  the  engines  at  the  proper  angles 
and  the  testing  of  their  carrying  power,  and  the  direct- 
ing of  their  voUeys,  I  was  a  poor  representative  of 
the    departed    master    armourer.    Luckily,    however, 
one  of  the  elder  men-at-arms  had  some  Uttle  skiU  and 
much  pride  in  these  matters ;  and  as  I  paid  close  atten- 
tion  to  what  he  required  to  be  done,  we,  between  us 
managed,  so  far  as  in  our  power  lay,  to  get  the  castle 
mto  a  fair  condition  for  the  expected  siege. 

Meanwhile  my  brother  was  occupied  in  seeing  that 
stores  of  provisions  and  herds  of  cattle  were  brought 
mto  the  hold,  or  close  under  protection  of  its  walls. 
These  provisions  were  gained  by  making  levies  on  those 
of  our  vassak  who  were  obUged  by  their  feudal  duties 
to  supply  such  when  caUed   upon  by  their  lord  earl. 
For  several  days  these  preparations  went  on,  whUe  iii 
the  meantime  a  greater  addition  was  made  to  the 
number  of  our  foUowers,  the  earl's  vassals  for  the  most 
part,  save  some  who  were  angered  at  his  impositions 
upon  them,  being  wiUing  to  foUow  their  lord  and  to 
defend  his  rights  and  power,  even  against  so  powerful 
a  pnnce  as  the  great  Albany. 

Diuing  this  time,  which  lengthened  into  weeks, 
1  had  become  changed  by  my  hard  labour  of  arms 
and  hands  from  a  puerile  stripling  into  a  morose  but 
actave  young  man.  In  this  mood  I  determined  to 
make  my  place  mine  own  in  the  castle,  living,  if  possible 


i 

l! 

5 


■A 


\V 


I 


"I 


U^ 


'M 


/.  I 


I 


t  I 


192 


7.4 AT  OF  THE  ORCADES 


save  when  at  toil,  neither  with  the  great  folk  nor  with 
the  retainers.  For  this  purpose  I  pled  the  value  of 
my  time  as  a  reason  for  having  my  meals  sent  to  the 
smithy,  where  I  spent  many  of  mine  hours  when  not 
on  the  battlements  with  the  captain  of  armsmen  direct- 
ing the  practice  with  the  great  cross-bolts.  Here 
sometimes  my  brother  Hugh  would  come  and  watch 
our  work,  or  perchance  ask  a  question,  or  give  an 
opinion ;  but  as  ever  since  that  night  when  we  had 
ill-words  I  had  never  addressed  him,  save  to  answer 
his  questions,  we  had  in  truth  no  commerce  of  thought 
save  as  any  armourer  and  his  lord  might  have.  As 
for  the  lady  cotintess  and  the  Lady  Margaret,  I  saw 
them  not.  They  were  ever  absent  when  I  was  on  the 
wall,  the  countess  being,  I  understood,  in  close  attend- 
ance on  the  lord  earl  or  at  prayers  in  the  chapel.  There 
I  seldom  or  rarely  went,  fearing  to  meet  either  of  them 
or  mine  uncle  Angus  ;  for  in  my  new  vocation  I  wanted 
naught  save  to  forget  mine  ill,  and  gradually  to  carve 
out  a  new  mode  of  Ufe.  But  it  was  not  altogether 
possible  to  shut  out  the  old  life  and  the  old  thoughts ; 
though  I  would  in  -^.y  poor  pride  try  and  persuade 
myself  that  I  was  co  all  in  the  past,  I  found,  even 

at  my  toil,  cr  on  my  couch  at  night,  that  the  rude 
armourer  would  think  upon  a  fair  face  and  a  sweet 
voice,  and  yearn  for  that  love  and  human  friendship 
which  a  sad  fate  had  denied.  And  at  times,  when  in 
stem  and  cold  converse  on  mechanical  matters  with  my 
lordly  brother,  who  ever  maintained  toward  me,  as 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  193 

toward  the  others,  a  high  tone  of  command,  would 
my  heart  leap  out  of  the  bounds  of  injured  pride,  and 
yearn  toward  him  with  a  feeUng  of  brotherly  love. 
Now  matters  went  on  in  this  way  for  some  weeks,  when 
somewhat  happened  which  threw  the  castle'  into 
terrible  sorrow  and  gloom.  It  was  no  less  than  the 
death  of  the  great  earl  himself,  which  happened  in  a 
mournful  and  tragic  manner. 

For  some  days  it  had  been  understood  that  he  was 
sinking ;  but  shut  off,  as  I  was,  an  aUen  in  the  place, 
I  could  know  but  httle  of  the  events  which  went  on 
beyond  the  duties  with  Tvhich  I  was  engrossed.  If 
at  times  it  came  to  me  with  force  that  he  was  my  father, 
and  that  the  fact  that  he  was  dying  should  be  of  matter 
to  me,  I  put  it  aside  as  not  to  be  considered,  seeing 
that  I  was  never  thought  of  in  that  relation  by  him  or 
by  others ;  and  it  was  no  fault  of  mine  if  I  were  prevented 
from  performing  those  sacred  duties  of  a  child  towards 
his  own  parent. 

One  eventide,  however,  when  I  was  putting  some 
finishing  touches  on  a  blade  which  I  had  intended 
for  mine  own  use,  and  as  I  beat  at  the  bright  metal 
making  it  ring  on  the  iron,  and  thinking  over  my  sad 
thoughts,  a  page  came  running  into  my  ceU,  and  prayed 
me,  "  For  Our  Lady's  sake,"  to  make  quick  haste  and 
come  at  once,  "for,"  he  said,  "the  lord  earl  is  passing 
and  he  calleth  thee :  and,  master  smith,"  he  continued' 
all  mght  long  he  did  naught  But  caU  on  a  woman'i 
name  which  none  of  us  have  ever  heard  before  •  and 


( 


s*.' 


l\ 


1  ! 


"\ 


h 


lit 


n 


194 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


my  lady  countess  she  does  naught  but  weep  and  pray ; 
and  now  he  calleth  for  thee,  and  thou  must  haste  quick, 
for  he  be  in  the  throe  !  " 

Without  staying  to  remove  mine  apron  of  tanned 
deerskin,  or  to  lay  down  my  blade,  I  followed  the 
page,  who  without  pause  to  take  breath  retraced  his 
steps  whence  he  had  come.  Soon  we  came  to  the 
grcLt  dining-hall,  where  the  proud  Earl  of  the  Cattynes, 
feel'iig  his  last  hour  draw  nigh,  had  ordered  himself 
to  be  borne,  to  die  in  his  state  and  pride,  as  his  princely 
fathers  had  done  before  him. 

There  I  went  in,  I,  the  rude  armourer,  my  hands 
and  face  smeared' with  the  smoke  and  rust  of  the  forge, 
my  rude  apron  upon  me,  with  that  blade  in  mine  hands, 
and  stood  before  them  all,  where  they  gathered  about 
him  as  he  lay  there,  partly  propped  up  in  his  chair 
of  state,  riying.  On  one  side  stood  the  lady  countess, 
her  face  marked  by  tears,  holding  his  hand,  and  near 
L?T  the  Lady  Margaret;  on  the  other,  my  brother 
Hugh,  with  a  sad  and  stem  look  on  his  face.  Near 
him  also  stood  th«=!  priest,  watchful  and  cahn,  but  with 
that  same  ill  smile  which  he  ever  wore  in  good  or  ill, 
in  time  of  gladness  or  of  sorrow.  They  all  looked  up 
as  I  entered,  and  the  lady  countess  started  forward. 

"  He  shall  not  come  here ! "  she  cried.  "  My  son  Hugh, 
send  him  away  !  He  hath  no  right  here  !  "  But  my 
brother  spake  not  nor  stirred,  only  glared  on  me  with 
a  stem,  dark  look,  and  then  looked  on  the  Lady  Margaret, 
and  then  at  the  pavement.    But  I  heeded  not  him 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  195 

nor  her,  but  walked  up  to  where  the  earl  lay  gaapinir 
as  one  who  hath  hard  struggle  to  get  his  breath,  and 
who  fam  would  be  away.  As  I  went  forward  the  priest 
stepped  m  front  of  me. 

nJ!-^*'';"u-^','"'^  '''  '*^'"  ^""«-  "Thou  must 
not  disturb  him.  ' 

"  But  I  was  sent  for."  I  cried.  "  and  he  is  my  father, 
he  would  speak  with  me."  and  I  cried  this  like  one 
m  angmsh  who  demands  his  rights. 

"  Thou  hast  no  right  here ! "  cried  the  priest ;  » 'twas 
but  m  madness  he  cried,  and  'twas  but  his  own  name 
he  spake." 

"  Then  teU  me."  I  said  in  fierce  tones.  «  whose  was 
the  name  on  his  hps  aU  last  night  ?  "  Whereat  they 
all  sterted.  and  the  lady  countess  cried.  "Begone; 
thou  xnsulter  t  Wilt  thou  intrude  thyself  upon  a 
dying  man  ? "  .^  i~u   » 

"Nay  but  ):  wiU  stay!"  I  cried  in  agony.  "He 
IS  my  father  I  have  seen  but  httle  of  him  in  hfe  that 
1  should  be  dnven  from  him  in  his  last  hour !  "  And  I 
kept  my  place. 

"^8  is  hideous."  said  the  lady  comitess.  "My 
son  Hugh  wilt  thou  see  this?"  Then  she  turned 
and^cned.     Ho  there  !  send  men  and  hale  this  person 

..?*''''lf '*^  "^""^  '^'^''  "  ^^^'^  ^^*  do  httle  good 
and  much  harm  here.    Thou  hadst  better  go  " 

'Thou  hest!''    I  cried  sternly.    "J  am  wanted." 
Whereat  my  brother  Hugh  turned  and  spake 


196 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  Yea,"  he  cried,  "  thou  false  priest,  he  is  wanted ! 
Let  him  stay  !  " 

"Then  I  warn  thee  of  the  consequence,"  said  the 
wily  priest,  turning  to  Hugh  ;  "  'tis  thine  own  fault 
doth  he  stay  !  " 

"  Hugh,  my  son,"  cried  the  countess,  "  why  wilt 
thou  do  this  ?  " 

"  By  Heaven,  he  is  his  son !  "  cried  Hugh ;  "  my  father 
called  for  him,  as  wc  all  heard,  and  he  shall  speak  with 
him  if  I  lose  my  earldom  for  it !  " 

"  I  thank  thee  for  this,  Hugh !  "  cried  I. 

"  Nay !  'tis  but  justice  I  would  do  thee,"  he  answered 
fiercely,  and  I  saw  ihat  I  stood  alone. 

Just  then  the  earl  seemed  to  revive,  and  tiurned 
his  eyes  in  a  vacant  manner  and  called  a  woman's 
name.  It  was  that  of  my  mother.  The  lady  countess 
started  back  in  pride  and  anger. 

"  He  raveth ;  he  is  mad  !  "  she  cried  aloud.  But 
I  .new  better.  I  saw  that  his  latest  hours  were  his 
best  ones,  and  that  if  he  had  any  good  thoughts,  they 
were  of  my  mother,  as  a  man  ever  turns  to  the  loved 
of  his  youth.  Then  he  spake,  "  Thou  false  priest, 
come  hither !  Speak  !  Tell  me  where  is  my  son  Ian  ? 
She  said  I  had  a  son — a  son  Ian ! "  Then  he  raised 
his  voice  as  he  said,  "  Curse  thee,  thou  false  priest ! 
What  wrong  didst  thou  to  me  and  to  her  ?  "  Then 
his  mind  seemed  to  wander,  and  he  cried,  "  Ian,  Ian, 
where  art  thou,  my  son  ?  "  I  could  stand  it  no  longer ; 
but  I  knelt  down  at  his  side,  and  cried,  "  My  father. 


F— ». 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  197 

oh    my   father!     I   am   Ian.    thy  son  f "     Whereat 
the  lady  countess  cried.  "This  must  not  '^!    Hu«h 

ZoTo.rd'^-'^^'^'^^^^-^-^-th'e; 

Then  something  happened  which  silenced   us  all 

i^f^.        J"  TT^^""'  "^*"^'  *«  °'  «°°*her  world.* 
m  the  wo^  of  the  dying,  when  they  stand,  as  it  were 
bet^xt  tbs  and  the  next.    The  earl  open;d  Ws  lye  ' 

Jho  art  thou  ?  "    And  I  answered,  "  I  am  thy  son 

thee      he  said.     "Haste,  haste,  sir   priest,  get  thee 
parchment  to  take  my  words."  and  he  tried  to  sit  up 
But  the  pnest  was  too  clever;  he  answered  stemly- 

Think  thou  rather  of  thy  soul,  my  lord  earl ;   for 
thou  standest  but  on  the  brink." 

"False  priest/'  cried  the  earl,  raising  himself  up, 

wUt  thou  not  do  my  will  ?  " 

pries^*^'  ^""^  ^  ^"""^^  "'"''''''"  *^''  ■  "  ^^«^«^d  tt« 

»  "  S^^t  't«  a  wrong,  a  great  wrong  !  "  cried  the  earl 

Ian.  my  son—"  then  he  paused  as  if  unable  to  speak. 

and  with  a  great  cry.  as  of  one  in  mortal  agony  fell 

forward  and  was  dead.  ^    ^' 

Thus  died  my  father,  Ian,  the  thirtieth  earl  of  his 

his  1  .r^"  '^^  *  ^^^  '  ^^^^  "^°^«  ^'^^y  to  meet 

^   enemy  than  to  elude  him  ;  who.  for  his  many  sins. 

may  Heaven  assoil  him.  was  of  good  intentionf  even 


mm 


198 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


n 


Vi 


m 


toward  me  whom  he  had  woefully  wronged,  and  whom 
he  would  have  righted  at  the  last  did  not  death  and 
mine  ill  uncle  prevent  him. 

He  sleeps  in  the  chapel,  in  the  tombs  with  his  fathers, 
the  great  earls  who  went  before  him ;  his  name  and 
arms  on  the  stone  above  him. 

Seeing  that  he  was  dead,  and  that  all  was  over,  and 
that  I  was  not  wanted  there,  I  hastened  out,  leaving 
those  others  who  claimed  more  right  than  I  to  bewail 
him,  and  make  for  him  fit  fimeral,  as  was  the  custom 
of  the  house.  But  late  that  even,  when  they  had  laid 
him  in  princely  state  before  the  altar  of  the  chapel, 
with  sombre  trappings  and  dim  tapers  about  his  bier, 
I  stole  in  atone  and  knelt  down  at  his  side,  and  gazed 
on  the  face,  so  still  in  death,  and  let  loose  my  woe ; 
for  great  earl  and  proud  man  though  he  was  in  life, 
in  death  he  was  but  mine  own  father. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

rp  WO  days  later  the  earl  wa«  buried  with  great  pomp 
.nH  .r        '^"fj^^i^'  a°^d  much  ,'  ppearance  of  woe 
and  the  gnef  of  h«  proud  counter      Hugh,  who  was 
now  earl,  therefore  seemed  for  r  me  fatal  reason  to 
have  assumed,  with  his  new  p.atness.  much  of  his 
fathers  fierceness  and  harshness  of  temper,  and  those 
who  had  known  the  young  heir  as  an  open,  frank,  but 
unpenous  youth,  now  saw  in  the  new  earl  a  moody, 
dark,  and  smgularly  morose  man.    There  is  no  doubt 
that  my  father's  action  at  the  h«t  had   somewhat 
to  do   with   this   change    in    his    character,   for   he 
must  have  seen   that   there  was   somewhat  due   to 
me  as  his  father's  son.  and  at  times  his  conscience 
must  have  smote  him.    Whatever  his  thoughts.  I  saw 
that  he  avoided  me.  and  this  among  other  things 
made  me  resolve  that  as  soon  as  possible  I  would  put 
my  old  determination  into  action,  and  leave  the  place 
for  ever.     Now  that  the  funeral  was  over.  I  was  back 
at  my  forge,  trying  to  lose  myself  anew  in  my  work  • 
but  the  words  which  the  earl  spoke  and  those  which 
he  had  tried  to  speak  bothered  me  much,  and  made 
my  position  difficult.    I  also  now  felt  that  the  lady 


aoo 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


countoM  knew,  or  Biupeoted,  all,  and  that  the  priest 

was  fully  aware  of  my  true  right*  in  the  case ;  but  I 

alao  knew  what  price  I  would  have  to  pay  for  his  aid, 

and  was  determined,  no  matter  what  happened,  to  avoid 

him  and  all  his  plans.    I  could  not  help  but  pity  my 

brother  that  I  should  stand  betwixt  him  and  all  this 

power,  which  he  had  been  reared  to  believe  his  of  right ; 

I  felt  that  if  anyone  could  bear  the  loss  it  was  myself, 

who  had  ever  been  used  to  shame  and  ill-usage,  while 

for  him  it  was  a  different  matter.    With  all  his  coldness 

toward  me,  I  could  have  gone  off  and  left  him  in  full 

possession  of  what  I  knew  to  be  mine  own.,  I  knew 

that  he  intended  to  act  fairly  by  me,  but  that  my 

father's  action  at  the  last  had  convinced  him  that  all 

was  not  sure  as  to  his  own  place,  and  that  his  honour 

was  at  variance  with  his  pride  in  regard  to  the  heirship 

of  his  earldom  and  all  which  it  meant  to  him.    I  fancy 

that  he  and  his  lady  mother  must  have  had  some  strong 

and  stormy  scenes  concerning  this  matter;    but  this 

was  all  put  out  of  mind  by  the  arrival  of  Albany's 

army,  which,  with  pennons  flying  and  great  engines 

of  war,  'aid  bitter  siege  to  Castle  Gimigoe. 

All  was  now  once  more  bustle  and  excitement,  and 
it  must  be  said  for  my  brother  that  his  only  weakness 
was  his  headstrong  nature,  and  that  the  fierce  answer 
he  gave  to  the  call  for  surrender  was  worthy  of  the  best 
bravery  and  noble  bearing  of  his  martial  ancestors. 
So  it  was  not  long  before  there  were  arrows  flying  and 
bolts  hurtling  to  and  from  the  castle  and  the  large  and 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  201 

weU.c«pari«,ned  army  of  be-iegers.  For  one  long 
week  the  aiege  lanted.  and  then  it  became  plain  to  the 
^ader  of  the  royal  army,  a  hot  old  noble  named 
Graham,  that  the  only  chance  to  subaue  Oimigoo 
would  be  by  a  slow  and  tediouB  process  of  starving  us 
out.  unless  by  some  act  of  treachery  the  castle  might 
bo  given  mto  his  hands. 

We  inside  were  abo  soon  aware  of  this  our  great 
-twngth  and  it  made  our  people  the  more  vaUant 
and  insolent  in  their  bearing;  and  while  there  was 
careful  wateh  on  the  walls  b>  ay.  there  was  more 
feasting  and  carousing  by  night  than  became  a  castle 

doubtful  for  I  knew  that  our  food  could  not  last  for 
ever;  and.  moreover,  I  was  dubious  as  to  what  part 
mine  uncle  Angus  would  play  in  the  matter.  That  he 
would  not  scruple  to  give  the  castle  up  I  did  not  doubt, 
the  only  thought  in  his  mind  being  the  terms  which 
ne  might  make  for  himself. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  week,  after  a  n.ore  than 
ordinarily  vigorous  assault,  in  which  the  enemy  lo«t 
many  men,  and  in  which  I,  who  had  now  become  a 
slolful  engineer  of  the  great  wooden  cross-bolts,  had 
aided  m  doing  much  destruction,  a  white  pennon  of 
truce  was  seen  approaching  the  castle  from  the  direction 

mu  t'^r't^^r^-    ^°'''  ^*^"«  ^^^^'^  *^«  °^-tter 
much  thought,  I  knew,  from  what  I  had  heard  of  affairs 

that  we  could  not  carry  the  siege  for  ever,  and  that  onl^ 

the  very  cold  weather,  which  is  severe  in  our  northern 


202 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


country,  would  drive  the  enemy  away ;  and  that  long 
before  this  our  garrison  would  be  in  a  state  of  starva- 
tion. For,  since  the  enemy  had  come,  they  had 
scoured  the  country  and  exhausted  all  the  supplies, 
whereas  we,  shut  in  as  we  were,  had  no  opportunities 
of  adiing  to  our  stores.  Therefore  it  seemed  to  me 
that  this  was  my  brother's  only  and  last  chance  to 
make  his  peace  with  Albany  on  terms  at  all  fitting  with 
his  pride.  Therefore,  when  I  saw  the  herald  approach 
for  this  purpose,  I  put  my  pride  in  my  doublet,  as  it 
were,  and  accosted  my  brother  where  he  stood,  silent 
and  thoughtful,  on  the  wall. 

"Well,  sir  ^mith,"  he  cried  haughtily,  "what 
wouldst  thou  have  ?  " 

At  this  my  pride  nigh  overcame  me,  but  controlling 
myself  I  said,  "  My  brother,  let  all  else  be  forgot  be- 
twixt us  save  that  I  am  thy  faithful  armourer,  and 
would  serve  thee  to  the  best  of  my  ability  with  my  life." 

"  Well,"  he  said  shortly,  "  what  is  it  thou  wouldst 
say  ?  "  Then,  in  as  short  space  as  I  could  put  it,  I  laid 
before  him  our  condition,  and  our  ill  prospects,  and 
the  likelihood  of  this  being  his  last  chance  of  capitula- 
tion with  honour.  At  first  he  was  inclined  to  flare  up, 
but  as  I  went  on  he  heard  me  with  some  thoughtfulness. 

"  There  is  much  truth  in  thine  argument,  master 
smith,"  he  answered,  "  and  will  be  taken  into  my 
good  consideration;  saving  always  mine  honour  and 
the  good  name  of  mine  house,  which  " — and  as  he 
said  this  he  could  not  but  speak  fiercely — "  hath  always 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  203 

bred  men  noble  in  mind,  and  holding  before  aU  else 
their  personal  honour,  never  to  surrender  to  any  foe 
so  long  as  life  doth  lasc  But."  he  continued,  "what 
counsel  wouldst  thou  give  if  the  enemy  doth  not  see 
nt  to  meet  our  terms  ?  " 

^^  "  Then  I  have  but  one  word,"  I  answered  proudly 
and  It  IB  to  hold  Gimigoe  tiU  the  last  man  di^s  " 
"Spoken  like  a  man,"  he  answered,  with  more  than 
his  ordina^  warmth.    Then,  as  if  remembering  him. 
self,  he  added,  "  But  I  have  those  to  think  of  who  are 
dearer  to  me  than  life,  and  who  are  iU-fitted  to  the 
long  ngour  of  a  closo  siege;"  and  I  knew  whom  he 
meant,  so  I  said  m^ught.    Then  he  said,  with  some 
hauteur.     It  IS  not  for  me  to  hold  counsel  with  thee, 
butnune  uncle  hath  another  plan  which  is  more  to  my 

A  "f  Ar^\*  ""^^  ^^""^  ^  •  "  I  "'^^d  fiercely,  for  I 
dreaded  that  his  counsel  was  toward  our  ruin. 

"  'Tis  not  for  me  to  say,"  he  answered  coldly ;  "  thou 
art  presuming  on  thy  place.  'Tis  enough!  I  will 
consult  my  lady  mother  and  mine  uncle  Angus  on  thy 
plan,    and  with  that  he  turned  and  left  me. 

I  saw  it  all  clearly  now,  and.  even  though  he  had 
hurt  me  keenly  by  his  cold  treatment,  I  could  not  but 
pity  bm  as  one  dropping  into  the  net  mine  uncle  was 
settmg  for  him.  I  could  have  cried  out  to  him  for  his 
own  sake  and  frr  aU  o,ir  sakes  to  take  my  counsel  and 
beware  the  priest,  but  I  knew  it  were  no  use.  Soon 
after  he  went  down,  and  I  knew  it  was  to  the  great 


I  : 


I 

t 


J   ' 


f 


204 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


w 


!  i 
I  I 


hall  or  to  mine  uncle's  room  to  consult  on  this  im- 
portant matter.  I  was  at  my  wits'  end  to  know  what 
to  do,  so  I  made  a  resolve  to  make  one  more  effort  to 
save  him  from  himself  and  his  tempter,  even  if  I  had 
to  lay  my  pride  in  the  dust  and  plead  for  my  plan  with 
the  lady  countess.  So  I  hastened  down  to  intercept 
her  before  she  could  go  into  the  great  hall.  I  knew 
where  I  would  meet  her  in  the  courtyard  coming  from 
the  chapel,  where  she  spent  most  of  her  time  now, 
seeing  that  she  had  so  much  to  plead  for  with  Heaven 
for  both  the  dead  and  the  living.  Strange  to  say  that 
she,  since  his  death,  had  made  quite  a  saint  of  the  lord 
earl,  and  had  >an  especial  shrine  reared  near  his  tomb, 
and  there  spending  the  greater  part  of  her  days,  so 
inconsistent  is  the  nature  of  humanity.  Going  down, 
I  met  her,  as  I  expected,  coming  from  the  chapel, 
her  rosary  in  hand,  closely  attended  by  the  Lady 
Margaret  and  her  women.  I  went  to  her  straight,  and 
said — 

"  My  lady,  could  I  have  a  word  with  you  ?  "  When 
she  saw  who  it  was,  her  religious  mood  seemed  to  vanish, 
and  she  said  with  some  pride  and  bitterness  of  voice, 
"  What  wouldst  with  me,  master  smith  ?  " 

"  Lady,"  I  cried,  "  this  be  no  time  for  strife  or  hard 

words "    I  would  have  gone  on,  but  she  would  not 

let  me. 

*'  Strife  ?  "  she  said,  in  her  scornful  way — "  what 
have  I  to  do  or  strive  with  such  as  thee  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  I  answered,  "  I  care  not  how  you  look 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


205 

on  me,  but  for  your  own  sake  and  that  of  your  son  vou 
must  hear  me  !  " 

"  How  now  !  »  she  cried ;  "  dost  thou  threaten  ?  » 
"Nay,  lady."  I  answered,  "  'tis  not  I  who  threaten 
but  Fate,  dost  thou  not  deal  fairly  with  the  coming 
ambassador.    For  the  sake  of  him  whom  thou  dost 
ove.  take  my  words  to  heart,  and  make  peace  with 
this  man.  thi"  Ubany.  ere  it  be  too  late." 

She  heard  me  through,  I  thought,  with  much  scorn 
on  her  face,  but  some  consideration.  Then  she  spake  • 
And  thou  wouldst  be  my  lord  chamberlain  in  such 
high  matters?  'Tis  but  little  good  advice  that  thou 
couldst  give  my  son.  And  thou,  drrah,  wouldst  advise 
the  surrender  of  this  castle  to  the  Lord  Albany  «  » 

"  I  would,  my  lady,"  I  cried,  «  could  it  be  done  with 
honour,  for  thy  son's  sake,  seeing  that  it  will  have  to 
go  m  the  end." 

"Yea,  my  bold  traitor."  she  answered,  "'tis  easy 

for  thee  to  make  surrender  of  what  is  not  thine  own  » 

Then  the  Lady  Margaret,   who   stood    near,   said 

1  feel  that  he  hath  wisdom  in  this  matter.    'Tis  for 
the  best.    Do  it,  I  pray,  ere  it  be  too  late." 

At  this  the  countess  started  as  if  stung  "  Thou 
ako.  girl ! "  she  cried.  «  Thou  also  against  my  Hugh 
thy  betrothed!  Art  thou  mad?  Seest  thou  not 
that  this  feUow  counseUeth  for  his  own  interest  and 
against  my  son's?  Father  Angus  hath  the  right 
plan,  and  the  honourable  one.    We  hold  this  castle 


f  ! 


"■■v. 


206 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I ;!  i 


\i 


Si  i 


n 


t  I     ! 


and  we  will  give  this  same  Albany  a  surprise  he  little 
suspects,  eie  many  days."  Then  she  turned  to  me  and 
said,  with  much  fierceness,  "  And  as  for  thee,  get  thee 
back  to  thy  forge,  thou  master  hammerer ;  and  leave 
such  high  matters  to  thy  betters," 

"  Then,  lady,"  I  could  not  forbear  to  say,  "  you 
doom  yourself  by  your  own  folly."  And  I  turned  and 
left  them,  and,  as  she  had  ordered,  went  back  to  my 
hammering. 

The  council  of  war  was  held,  and,  as  I  suspected,  was 
more  to  the  liking  of  two  such  haughty  spirits  as  the 
countess  and  Earl  Hugh,  than  was  mine.  It  was  carried 
out,  and  in  the*  end  proved,  as  I  had  foreseen,  to  be  the 
ruin  of  us  all. 

The  immediate  result  of  this  council  was  that  the 
bearer  of  the  treaty  was  received  in  great  state  in  the 
large  dining-hall,  where  my  brother  Hugh,  with  his  mother 
on  one  hand  and  the  priest  on  the  other,  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  hall,  surrounded  by  armsmen  and  retainers  in 
armour.  Through  a  passage  up  the  middle,  betwixt 
long  deep  rows  of  armsmen,  amongst  whom  I  stood  in 
my  place  as  a  humble  retainer,  the  envoy  was  escorted 
to  deliver  his  message  and  to  receive  his  answer.  He 
came  in  proud  and  brave,  a  fine-looking  young  squire 
who  was  ambitious  to  win  his  spurs,  and  he  looked  every 
inch  a  man  to  win  hem  and  to  keep  them.  He  faced 
my  proud  brother,  who  stood  equally  mai  *  .  uth  his 
fine  earl's  belt  and  armour,  looking  ^re  uke  a  prince 
than  like  an  ordinary  noble — fair  in  the  face,   and 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


207 
omitted  not  «  word  of  the  dread  me«.ge  he  b«„.ht 
hough  he  knew  that  the  h.„ghty  earl  Jd  havered' 
him  to  be  struck  down  where  he  stood 

i„  Zf  ■"/'°^" '^■^  "^ '"«>«'". «'«■«  him  down 
« It  that  yon  host  of  men  hath  this  week  baek  Wd  JZ 
"J  T»"  "»  •""  ™-.  i"  this  mine  ancest™!  „^tt 

th    attynes  ?    Answer  as  your  life  shall  stand  on""' 

My  lord  carl,"  cried  the  SQuiro  "  I  .„  ""  °'"»- 
standing  for  and  speaking  forrmos  rbrlytoH 
Graham  of  Esk,  baron  of  that  ilk  in  his  n.m<,    T 
mandeth  the  army  of  his  Most  ffigh  ^7  R  t" 
tie  Second,  King  of  Scotland,  as  oMe^':,^  "t^^ 
most  noble  Prince  Robert,  Duke  of  Albanv^l 
LoM  Graham  of  Esk  being  sent  IT^:^^: 
.ther  Ian  of  the  Cattynes  and  Orcades,^d  to  mZ 
h™  answer  or  his  many  crimes,  special  beingtherc^ 
h^ou,  mmder  of  his  Grace  the  Bishop  of  the  Cattle 
or  which  cnme  your  lord  father  being  summoned  S 

S^rertrr^^riarttr:"-" 

to_.^this  his  castle  by  storm  tr^tr^r 

indern:^:!;:'""""'^""''""''^'-'^"-*-, 

Jil  ^'^:  ^l' '"°' '"'''''"'  ™'''"  ««<!  the  squire     "  Mv 
mission  to  thrs  castle  of  Girnigoe  is  not  on  these  matter 
but  „  from  my  leader  the  most  noble  Graham  wtf^' 
tk-  to  thee  :  that  hearing  that  thy  utLlLt  ^t 


I 


208 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


!H 


ir 


' 


who  committed  these  crimes,  be  dead  and  past  thai 
punishment  meted  out  by  earthly  princes ;  and  hearing 
he  was  afflicted  by  some  madness  afore  his  death,  whicl 
might  palKate  somewhat  those  same  crimes,  and,  further, 
having  no  quarrel  with  thee,  but  much  sympathy  with  a 
young  lord  of  a  great  house  such  as  thou  art,  he  hath 
taken  it  upon  him  to  ask  thee  to  treat  with  him  in  all 
honour,  and  that,  certain  compensation  being  made  to 
Holy  Church  for  the  death  of  the  late  bishop,  he  pledgeth 
his  honour  that  thou  wilt  be  fairly  dealt  with  and  thy 
peace  be  made  with  his  liege  Majesty  for  the  deeds  com- 
mitted against  Church  and  State  in  this  thine  earldom." 

"  Sir  squire,"  cried  the  Earl  Hugh,  in  defiant  tones, 
"thy  message  meaneth  that  my  wily  cousin  Albany, 
seeing  he  cannot  smoke  out  his  victim,  would  coax  him 
into  his  hands." 

"  You  wrong  my  message  and  the  sender  thereof,  my 
lord  earl,"  cried  the  squire  with  some  spirit. 

"  Nay,"  cried  Hugh,  "  but  I  cast  thy  pretended  mercy 
back  irto  thy  teeth,  thou  false  messenger ;  and  tell  my 
cousin  Albany  that  he  may  have  me  at  his  feet,  doth  he 
come  and  catch  me." 

"  Nay  then,  my  lord  earl,"  cried  the  outraged  squire, 
"  I  have  but  this  to  say  :  thou  hast  lost  thine  earldom 
and  thy  life  by  thine  own  folly.  My  message  to  thee 
now  is  that  thine  earldom  is  confiscated,  and  the  penalty 
death.  Such  is  the  fiat  of  thy  liege  lord  and  majesty 
the  King."  So  saying,  he  made  a  low  obeisance  to 
the  lady  countess  and  passed  out.    And  I  knew  that, 


/    1 


() 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  200 

whatever  scheme  my  brother  had  as  he  stood  there  in  aU 
his  splendour  and  pride,  he  had  lost  his  la^t  chance  of 
keeping  his  power  and  aUegiance  to  the  crown  of 
ocotland. 

^^  He  waited  until  the  squire  had  gone  out.  then  he  said, 
We  wiU  send  him  another  answer  he  Uttle  suspects  ere 
many  hours  are  over." 


i   1 


14 


I'll 


m 


l! 


i! 

i 


I 


i  'I 
■1 ,1 

,  <  ; 

<     I: 


1)1 


lil 


in 


CHAPTER  XX 

1^  Y  uncle's  plan  to  surprifle  the  besiegers  soon  became 
•^»J-  known  throughout  the  castle,  when  it  was 
announced  that  a  sudden  sortie  was  to  be  made  that 
night  on  the  camp  of  the  other  army,  who,  not  suspecting 
80  much  temerity  on  the  part  of  the  besieged,  would  be 
taken  complet<)ly  by  surprise. 

This  plan  met  with  much  approval,  as  the  heavy  loss 
on  the  part  of  the  besiegers  and  the  little  damage  done 
to  the  castle  had  made  our  people  over-confident  and 
rash  in  their  seeming  safety.  Also  the  earl's  defiant 
answer  to  the  squue,  and  his  proud  treatment  of  him, 
had  raised  the  spirits  of  all  his  retainers. 

But  down  in  my  heart  I  feared  treachery  on  the  part 
of  my  wily  uncle ;  I  had  suspicions  that  he  had  some 
secret  communication  with  the  enemy,  and  it  only 
needed  a  traitor  to  give  them  warning  of  our  coming  to 
turn  this  reprisal  of  ours  into  a  signal  defeat.  That 
such  was  going  to  happen  I  was  more  than  sure,  else 
why  had  mine  priestly  uncle  given  such  advice  as  he 
had  done  ?  I  determined  to  watch  him ;  but  this  was 
a  difficult  matter,  considering  that  I  was  supposed  to 
be  deeply  engaged  in  my  vocation  as  castle  smith,  which 

210 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  211 

gave  me  aU  I  could  do  to  fulfil  the  demands  upon  my 
skill.  That  he  had  any  communication  with  the  enemy 
by  way  of  sea  I  could  not  believe,  as  I  had  removed  his 
only  mode  of  access  from  that  direction ;  but  it  was  hard 
to  say  whether  he  had  not  some  means  yet  unknown 
to  nae  for  secret  treachery,  so  deep  were  his  resources, 
as  the  event  proved. 

Beyond  this  there  was  naught  I  could  do.  for  I  had 
exceeded  my  sense  of  pride  already  in  making  appeals, 
only  to  meet  rebuff  and  insult.    So  incensed  was  I  at 
times,  that  had  it  not  been  for  a  feeling  of  honour  I  would 
have  been  half  inclined  to  take  mine  accusers  at  their 
word  and  tiy  to  make  secret  terms  for  my  rights  out  of 
this  dismal  ruin  which  was  to  ensue.    But  such  feelings 
were  only  passing,  and  I  can  say  sincersly  that  my 
uppermost  desire  during  all  that  time  was  to  save  my 
foohsh  brother  from  his  own  rash  self,  and  from  his 
devihsh  uncle,  who  was  determined  to  bring  about  his 
destruction. 

Toward  the  fall  of  night  a  council  of  war  was  held  by 
the  eari.  to  which  a  few  of  the  principal  armsmen,  the 
pnest.  and  the  lady  countess  were  caUed,  and  I  was 
surprised  by  also  receiving  a  command  to  be  presc  f 
Remembering  the  late  contemptuous  refusal  to  consider 
my  advice.  I  could  not  but  view  with  suspicion  this  new 
turn  of  affairs.    \VTiat  foUowed  proved  my  surmisals 
to  be  correct.    All  were  in  good  heart  as  to  the  favour- 
able  results,  and  even  mine  uncle  was  in  high  spirits  for 
one  usuaUy  so  taciturn,  but  this  on  his  part  was  likely 


•IS 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


to  be  a  blind  to  deceive  others  as  to  hi»  real  objects  and 
desires. 

The  principal  discussion  turned  on  the  question  of 
who  should  lead  the  sortie.  The  countess  was  anxious 
that  Hugh  should  remain  in  the  castle,  and  that  the 
warder  or  castle  chamberlain  should  have  the  honour 
of  leading  the  attack.  I  was  at  first  surprised  to  notice 
that  the  priest  stood  with  her  in  this  matter,  not  so 
ardently  as  she  argued  it,  but  sufficiently  to  show  that 
it  was  agreeable  with  his  counsels.  I  soon  saw,  however, 
that  the  priest  did  this  on  purpose,  knowing  my  brother 
so  weU  as  to  be  sure  that  he  would  sooner  lose  his  earl- 
dom than  forego  leading  his  followere  in  person  on 
such  an  adventure^  and,  furthermore,  that  any  kind  of 
opposition  would  only  determine  him  the  more  strongly 
to  have  his  way. 

"  WTeU,  go  if  thou  wilt,"  cried  the  priest,  "  but  it  had 
pleased  me  better  that  thou  shouldst  have  stayed,  and 
let  a  less  worthy  person  lead  this  attack-even  thine 
own  uncle,  had  he  but  power  and  vocation  to  handle 
a  sword  in  so  masterful  a  way  as  doth  our  brave  master 
armourer  yonder; »  and  he  looked  at  me  with  a  grim 
smile. 

"  How  now ! »  cried  Hugh,  "  and  thou  wouldst  snatch 
from  me  this  honour  ?  Nay,  if  any  gain  glory  by  this, 
'tis  I,  and  to  me  shaU  faU  the  danger,  though  I  fear 
none."  Then  the  countess  spoke,  in  some  tone  of 
anxiety — 

"  Sir  priest,"  she  said,  "  teU  me  truly,  hast  thou  any 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  213 

mi«giving  for  my  lord's  safety  doth  he  fare  on  this 
expedition  ?  " 

"Madam,"  returned  the  wily  prfest,  "we  are  all  in 
the  hand  of  Heaven,  yet  for  my  part  I  cannot  but  admire 
my  brave  nephew  for  his  martial  courage  and  manly 
decision."  And  I  saw  as  he  spoke  that  he  cleverly 
managed  to  keep  himself  a  loophole  out  of  which  to 
escape,  no  matter  what  the  end  might  be.  Then  I 
spake  up. 

••  My  lord  earl,"  I  cried,  "  if  thou  art  to  lead  us  in 
pewon.  let  me  be  at  thy  side  to  defend  thee." 

"  Nay,"  cried  the  countess,  "  it  shall  not  be ! "    Then 
my  brother  turned  to  me  and  said  sneeringly— 

"Master  armourer,  we  have  commanded  thee  to  this 
conference  not  for  any  value  of  thy  advice  that  thou 
wouldst  give  us,  but  because  we  have  determined  upon 
a  special  duty  for  thee  to  perform.  We  are  not  lacldn« 
m  remembrance  of  our  last  sortie  from  this  castle,  and 
of  the  valued  part  thou  didst  play  therein.  But  thou 
art  a  not  indifferent  defender  of  fair  damsels,  if  no 
fighter;  therefore,"  he  continued,  "it  is  our  will  that 
you  stay  here  with  a  few  choice  men  to  guard  these 
walls  while  we  go  forth  to  battle." 

Now  it  doubly  angered  me  that  I  should  be  insulted 
and  left  out  m  this  way  from  the  real  danger,  if  there 
were  to  be  any,  and  that  my  brother  should  see  fit  to 
hold  xn  contempt  mine  attitude  during  the  last  fight  at 
the  bishop's  castle.  In  it  aU  I  could  see  plainly  thTwork 
of  mine  uncle,  and  I  felt  it  bitterly  tiiat  my  brother  in 


r 


214 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


his  sneers  at  my  lack  of  desire  to  fight  had  impugned  my 
manhood. 

However,  it  was  not  my  part  to  demur,  but  rather 
to  do  that  which  had  been  allotted  to  me,  so  I  gave  a 
reluctant  acceptance  to  this,  in  a  sense,  galling  office 
But  I  found  out  that  there  was  much  more  behind  this 
mine  appointment  as  guardian  of  the  castle,  and  which 
discovered  to  me  a  blacker  deviltry  in  mine  evil  uncle's 
schemes  than  I  had  yet  deemed  possible.  But  of  this 
I  will  speak  in  its  place. 

It  was  deepest  night,  at  that  hour  when  camps  of 
war,   being  in  safety  and  in  no  expectation  of   an 
enemy,  ar  wont  to  lay  down  in  security,  not  sleeping 
on  their  arms,  to  bonfident  repose,  when  our  midnight 
attack  sallied  forth  from  the  walls  of  Castle  Gimigoe. 
As  it  was  my  place  to  marshal  them  out  and  see  the 
gates  well  closed  and  drawbridge  lifted  behind  them,  1 
had  good  chance  to  watch  their  departure.    They  were 
a  bolder,  better  caparisoned,  and  more  determinedly 
silent  troop  than  that  which  had  issued  forth  on  the 
last  occasion  under  the  old  earl.    And  they  had  reason 
to  be,  for  they  were  not  now  going  to  surprise  a  church 
garrison,  asleep  in  its  own  self-confidence,  but  a  well- 
appointed  and  moderately  watchful  army.    It  is  true 
that  that  army  was  supposed  to  be  unsuspicious  of  their 
coming,  and,  as  they  had  learned  by  spies  sent  out, 
to  bo  quite  ofi  their  guard,  and  liable  to  be  easily 
surrounded  and  annihilated,  yet  even  in  this  case  they 
were  likely  to  meet  Hth  a  stem  and  bitter  resistance 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  215 

from  men  weU  trained  and  experienced  in  the  arts  of 
war. 

Therefore,  as  they  isaued  forth  with  but  little  doubt 

of  their  auccess.  and  a  feeUng  of  honour  in  going  to  the 

attack,  I  mu«t  own  that  it  gave  me  a  galling  sense  of 

the  position  I  occupied,  as  of  one  only  fit  to  guard 

closed  gates,  while  those  considered  my  betters  went 

forth  to  open  attack.    But  I  had  even  more  to  endure. 

As  the  horsemen  and  men-at-arms  filed  out.  grim  and 

Bilent  m  their  war  accoutrements,  my  brother  Hugh 

rode  out  into  the  courtyard,  with  plumed  helmet  and 

belted  sword ;  and  I  doubt  if  I  ever  saw  him  look  so 

proud  and  soldierly  as  he  did  at  that  time,  when  he 

■eemed  to  feel  Us  position  as  the  keeper  of  his  great 

house  and  the  leader  of  a  brave  foUowing  of  vaUant  men. 

Just  then  he  stayed  his  steed  opposite  to  where  I  stood, 

and  from  the  chapel  where  she  had  been  pray^n^  came 

forth  the  countess,  followed  by  the  Lady  Margaret 

"My  son.  oh !  my  son ! "  she  cried,  "if  thou  shouldst 
lall  f 

"  Fear  not  for  me,  mother."  he  answered  in  his  proud 
way.  "  Rather  pray  thee  for  our  enemies  that  their 
hmmhation  be  not  too  great,  for  they  have  need  of  pity 
this  coming  night."  And  he  leaned  over  in  a  stately 
manner  and  kissed  her  upturned  face. 

"And  thou,  my  lady."  cried  he  in  sad  tones  to  the 
Lady  Margaret.  "  wilt  thou  not  also  come  and  give  me 
God-speed  ? " 

At  this  she  started  back  as  if  doubtful  with  herself. 


r^ 


f  ^^ 

^ 

^  1 

1 

/ 

i 

■^ 

(./ 

ii 

(■ 

.}' 

^ 

1 

S 

;»^ 

2i6  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

which  the  more  surprised  me ;  then  she  went  forwr  rd, 
and  parting  her  closed  veil,  showing  her  sweet  face  pale' 
and  subdued  in  the  moonlight,  so  that  my  heart  seemed 
to  stop  m  its  beating  at  sight  of  it,  held  it  up  to  receive 
his  parting  salutation.  It  was  all  over  in  a  moment, 
but  my  hand,  which  clenched  the  hilt  of  my  sword,' 
gripped  it  so  strongly  that  the  blood  came  out  from  my 
fingers'  ends.  Then  he  straightened  up,  and  speaking 
to  me,  said — 

"  Master  warder,  for  this  night  I  leave  thee  in  charge 
of  these  ladies  and  this  castle.  See  that  thy  charge  is 
well  rendered  as  thou  valuest  thy  hfe,"  and  his  voice 
rang  out  harshly  and  sternly  on  the  night. 

"  My  lord  earl,"  I  cried,  "  such  as  I  am  care  httle  for 
their  hves ;  but  I  have  one  thing  left  me,  and  that  is 
mine  honour.  I  promise  thee  that  if  my  charge  is  not 
kept  in  truth  as  thou  requirest,  I  will  render  that  life  up 
m  their  defence  or  quickly  forfeit  it  at  your  disposal." 

"  See  that  you  keep  it,"  be  cried.  "  Raise  the  gate  " 
he  commanded  to  the  keeper,  and  as  the  gate  went  up 
he  rode  out,  and  I  never  saw  him  again  until  we  had 
bitter  reason  to  rue  that  mad  night  and  its  ill  conse- 
quences. After  him  rode  his  squires  and  chosen  men 
Then  the  gate  went  down,  the  bridge  up,  and  I  was  for 
the  first  time  master  of  Girnigoe. 

But  if  I  had  been  one  disposed  to  be  proud  of  this 
mine  equivocal  position,  which  I  was  not,  for  I  was  too 
full  of  a  sense  of  coming  ill  to  think  of  aught  else  save  my 
bare  duty  as  seneschal,  I  was  soon  to  be  reminded  that 


I 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  „j 

if  Girnigoe  had  lost  it,  m„ter  it  affl  had  a  mirtres,  .„d 

"Master   armourer,"    she   «dd,    coming   forward 

we  are  but   ill  provided  with   a   .arriL   ^Z 

W-t  my  son  had  no  thought  of  „„f  dTn^r  in  tU 

My  protection  of  high  bastions  and  stout  wal  .  „r  he 

W  eft  J.  better  captained  and  more  sturdily  follow^^^ 

™»  who  stood  about  me.    "But."  she   continued 

we  must  e'en  make  the  best  of  what  we  have.    No^ 

W.^me_.tra.ght.  sirrah,  hast  thou  a  knowledge  of  Z 

wartlership,  so  I  answered  her  stemlv   "T.J,  »k 
must  fa.„w.  or  if  thou  dost  not  tl^l'lho^^f '^  7 
k.t  th.s  pos,t.on  of  mine  is  none  of  mine  own  seetol' 
It  gneves  me  most  ill  that  I  am  not  out  among  those  w^o 
We  perch^oe  gone  ,„  graver  d«,ger,  than'th" 

2,w  '■  *"'  ""=■  «'°°8''  "y  >»ind  misgive 

rotrti^r"''™""'"^'-'^-*^---^™ 

teTclt      r  '^"'^  "  "'•''  '^^  " ;  l-ut  something 
A  mere  coward's  fancy,"  she  answered,  with  some 


^  ^'"S-'HS&sw^".. 


2l8 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


scorn.    "  A  pretty  warder,  thou,  to  be  left  to  such  a 
charge." 

"  Nay,  madam,"  I  answered,  "  but  as  brave  as  you 
like.  Yet  with  your  leave  I  will  go  my  rounds  and  see 
that  all  is  in  safety  ;  "  and  so  saying  I  left  her. 

Having  examined  all  the  weak  parts  of  our  defences, 
and  having  placed  sentinels  where  we  could  soonest  be 
apprised  of  the  approach  of  danger,  I  placed  myself  on 
an  eminence  where  I  could  best  view  the  coming  attack 
which  our  troops  were  about  to  make  on  the  enemy's 
camp.  I  did  this,  and  I  watched  the  more  eagerly,  for 
I  was  full  confident  that  we  in  our  turn  were  to  have  a 
sxirprise,  and  that  my  poor  brother  in  his  pride  and  folly 
had  gone  out  into  the  meshes  of  a  net  which  had  been 
laid  for  him.  If  I  had  had  no  other  reason  for  beUeving 
this,  I  had  read  it  all  as  clearly  as  I  ever  read  page  of 
book  in  the  sinister  smile  on  the  priest's  face  as  he  last 
gazed  on  my  brother,  ere  we  closed  on  him  the  gates 
a  short  time  since.  Now  my  mind  was  in  a  dread 
quandary,  for  sure  as  I  was  of  the  coming  evil,  the  most 
horrible  part  of  it  all  was  that  I  had  no  sxispicions  from 
which  quarter  it  might  first  strike  us  ;  but  I  resolved  to 
wait  and  watch  the  event  and  abide  the  issue,  which  I 
knew  could  not  be  long  in  coming. 

When  our  sortie  had  disappeared  from  out  of  our 
walls  into  the  night,  they  were  lost  to  us  in  the  dark  as 
completely  as  if  the  wolfish  night  had  opened  its 
voracious  jaws  and  swallowed  them  up  horse  and  foot. 
It  had  been  my  brother's  aim  to  steal  aroimd  on  to  the 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


219 

other  <ddc  of  the  enemy',  eamp.  .„d  «,  .„^rise  and 
a^^md  them,  making  the  attack  complel  on  ali 

It  eeemed  fully  the  .pace  of  an  hour,  aa  we  count, 
ate  the  gate,  had  closed  on  our  outgoing  force,  when 
*en,  ro«  „„  the  night  air  a  loud  challenging  and 
con^usmg  ehout;  and  «K,n  wa,  heard  the  trample 
of  hor«,  the  clang  of  arme,  the  cries  of  the  wound^ 

met  ;.  "V"  "'""•  "  *■"  »'"''  »'  "«=  °-et 
Zl  "  *""  f*"""  S'""-  «<)  it  wa,  not  long 
More  those  of  ua  in  the  castle,  who  understood  sucf 
matters,  were  aware  that  there  was  no  common  battle 

vatan  Id  h    71"^  "  """  ■'°*  «"'  •>»*  ^^  -°« 
vahantand  hopeful  of  ua  could  not  but  know  that  it 

w«  otherwise  than  the  result  of  a  perfect  surprise. 

me  J"  \'"T^  "•"''■"  '»''*  ^  "M  «™»»«"  to 
sTddrinr^.'"''"'^    "  ^'""  ■"'»  ««"'  »<>*  -  0- 

" '''"  ■;"  ^"ty  «»  do  our  lord's  wiU  here,  master 

But  ths  Idea  that  we  had  been  trapped  now  spread 
hronghout  the  castle,  and  the  oounteesTmuch  t^X 
fon  came  up  to  where  I  was  on  the  „u<*r  wall.     ^ 
What  meaneth  this  ?  »  she  criPf^  in  ih^     •    ^     , 
had  followed  her  up.  '^'  P™'*'  ^^° 

h.ri"''*''','^'  "'^^^'"'"  ^«  ^^^«^d.  "  that  thy  son 
hath  hs  work  cut  out  for  hi.,  but  that  he  dX  "t 


220 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


bravely."    Yet  I  could  not  but  see  by  the  lantern's 
light  that  there  was  a  strange  expectant  air  about  him, 
as  though  he  looked  for  somewhat  more  which  was 
about  to  liappen.    I  stood  there  trying  to  discover  in 
my  mind  where  or  what  would  be  the  next  manner  of 
attack,  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  cried  to  myself  that  I 
were  a  stupid  fool,  and,  as  my  lady  had  said,  utterly 
unfit  to  guard  such  a  place  ;  for  it  came  over  me  all  of 
a  rush,  with  a  great  beating  of  my  heart,  that  in  my 
worry  and  trouble  I  had,  for  the  time  being,  forgotten 
all  &l>out  the  passage  underneath  that  led  up  from  the 
sea. 

To  think  now  was  to  act,  so  fearing  I  was  too  late.  I 
called  to  me  a  sturdy  armsman,  and,  taking  him  aside, 
said  to  him,  "  Mowat,  go  you  down  into  that  passage 
leading  to  my  room  and  that  of  the  Wizard  Tower,  and 
stand  you  guard  with  your  blade ;   and  the  first  man 
that  you  see  approach  that  way,  kill  him.    Then  bring 
me  word."    He  at  first  stared  at  me,  as  though  he 
thought    I  were   mad.    Then    he    said,   "Thou    art 
master  warder  here  and  I  must  obey.    But  were  it  not 
better  that  I  stay  here,  or  help  those  who  guard  the 
gate,  than  go  where  thou  sendest  me,  which  seemeth 
but  a  fool's  errand  ?  "    Now  this  was  a  long  speech 
for  such  a  man,  and  an  impudent  one,  and,  as  I  knew, 
came  partly  from  the  common  contempt  of  my  position, 
and  also  from  the  man's  sense  of  the  ^idicul'^usness  of  my 
order.    But  I  had  no  time  to  parley  with  such  a  man. 
Our  danger  was  too  imminent. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


221 

stendest !       Ana  my  argument  was  the  best  I  could 
have  used,  for  he  went  without  hesitetion.  as  my  look 

m  which  I  had  finished  his  feUow-armsman.    Mine 
only  fear  now  was  that  my  suspicion  of  this  danger  had 
come  too  ate.  and  I  would  liked  to  have  gone  lit 
person  and  examined  my  room  and  that  of  the  priest 
but  I  dared  not  leave  the  walls  where  my  duty  kepTme 

thttlub7  '"^  *'*'  *''"  ^^^  ^'''  ^^  ^^-     But 
the   rouble  came  even  sooner  than  I  expected.    I  had 

are'soThI  "^^^  ^^^«  *^^  '-'-'  ^^^^  I  ^<^  ^o  e 
heard  a  great  thundering  as  of  horses'  feet,  and  a  voice 
came  from  below  demanding  entrance  a't  the  0^; 

enL'^cetri"^"^^''''^'^''"^^^*^ 

th  "t""  ?%T'  °*  *^'  ^^'  *^«  I^"t«  of  Albany  and 
tie  Lord  of  Esk."  came  the  answer.  "  And  d  Jthou 
not  open  up  we  will  batter  our  way  in." 

"  No  one  entereth  here  this  niffht  save  in  fi,n  « 
of  the  Earl  of  the  Cattynes."  I  s2  ^°^' 

"Then  have  at  you,"  and  a  shower  of  arrows  feU 

t:t:;:i^^-^^-"----^ostoo:^j::; 

"  Get  the  great  bolt  trained  on  them,"  I  cried     And 

cTn^t:?  ^'^!  '  ^^  ^'^^^  ^-^-'  ^«*X  ^d 
come  too  near,  and  it  was  impossible  to  aim  it  so  low. 


222 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


1 


:!' 


covered  as  they  were  by  the  angle  of  the  castle  wall. 
So  all  we  wOuld  do  was  to  keep  out  of  reach  of  their 
arrows  and  defy  them,  while  the  fight  in  the  distance 
continued  as  fiercely  as  ever. 

Things  now  looked  very  doubtful  to  me,  though  to 
those  about  me  we  seemed  in  a  fairly  safe  position  were 
only  the  earl  and  his  party  back  safe  under  cover,  but 
to  my  mind  matters  never  looked  worse.  The  countess 
stood  with  her  face  white  in  the  dim  light,  and  close 
beside  her  the  Lady  Margaret  holding  the  former's  hand 
in  her  own,  as  if  commiserating  with  her  in  her  fear  and 
grief,  and  my  heart  could  not  help  but  hold  a  deep 
sorrow  for  them,  who  were  thus  sufiering  so  because  of 
the  young  earl  out  there  in  the  grim  night,  where  he  had 
gone  perchance  to  his  death.  I  had  stood  thus  watching 
them  and  hearkening  to  the  still  fiercely  contested, 
distant  battle,  and  keeping  an  eye  on  the  hostile  party 
who  still  hovered  under  the  outside  wall  near  the  gates, 
as  though  expecting  some  mode  of  entrance,  when  on  a 
sudden  there  came  a  great  yell  from  the  centre  of  the 
castle,  and  ere  it  had  died  out,  the  man  Mowat  came 
staggering  up  the  stairs  with  a  white  face  and  a  wounded 
arm,  crying,  "  Master,  we  be  lost !  We  be  lost !  Men 
be  coming  up  at  us  out  of  the  sea ! "  The  countess 
let  a  cry  of  horror,  and  the  Lady  Margaret  went  pale 
and  clung  to  the  parapet.  But  I  turned  and  cried  to 
the  priest,  "  Thou  devil,  art  thou  a  man,  guard  these  on 
thy  life  !  "  and  calling  to  me  six  of  my  men  with  swords 
to  follow  me,  seized  me  a  lantern,  and  hastening  down 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  223 

into  the  caatle,  made  for  the  corridor  leading  to  the 
tower.    I  lo8t  no  time,  hoping  that  I  might  be  able  to 
close  the  priest's  t)ap  or  mine  own.    But  I  was  too 
late,  for  just  as  I  opened  the  door  a  man  stepped  out 
and  I  saw  in  the  light  of  the  lantern  we  carried  that 
the  room  was  full  of  armed  men.  with  more  coming  up 
I  had  but  a  moment  to  decide  ;   but  for  once  I  did  the 
nght  thing.    Knocking  the  man  down,  I  slammed  the 
door  to,  and  ran  back  to  where  my  men  were  who  had 
followed  me. 

"Here,  my  brave  fellows,"  I  cried,  "if  ever  you 
fought  for  the  lord  of  Gimigoe.  now  is  your  time  » 
Stand  with  me  here,  and  as  this  passage  is  narrow 
we  may  chance  be  able  to  keep  it  till  our  lord  arrives' 
or.  If  not,  until  we  are  dead  men."  But  I  saw  by  thei^ 
faces  that  the  men  were  confused  and  startled  as 
though  they  had  amon-  themselves  been  contending  on 
some  dread  matter.  "  Be  these  men  ?  "  asked  odb  of 
them ;  "  be  they  mortal,  master  ?  We  be  not  afeard 
to  fight  men.  but  to  contend  with  wild  wizard-folk,  or 
seamen,  it  seemeth  not  canny." 

"  Fools  f "  I  cried.  "  do  ye  not  see  that  there  hath 
been  treachery,  and  that  these  are  the  Lord  Graham's 
men  brought  round  by  sea.  and  let  in  by  some  secret 
passage  ?  Fight  if  ever  you  fought,  and  the  first  who 
wavers  wiU  die  by  mine  own  hand  !  »  I  aaid  this  in  an 
agony  of  desperation,  for  I  saw  the  whole  cruelty  of  the 
damned  pnest's  trap  now.  or  thought  I  did.  for  there 
was  worse  to  come  of  it  for  me,  as  I  shall  show 


i 


aa4 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


1 1 


11 . 


.  -'I 


u 


We  had  not  long  to  wait,  each  of  us  huddled  there 
with  blade  in  hand,  and  face  drawn  and  expectant,  in 
the  gloom  of  that  lonely  passage,  when  we  heard  them 
approaching ;  for  this  was  the  only  way  by  which  they 
could  get  up  into  the  castle,  and  to  do  so  they  would 
first  have  to  cut  us  down. 

As  they  came  near  in  the  dark,  holding  their  lanterns, 
with  their  swords  drawn,  their  leader,  who  was  the 
same  young  squire  who  had  brought  the  message  that 
day,  stopped  and  cried  to  us  to  give  up  the  passage  and 
surrender  on  our  'ives,  promising  that  we  would  be 
protected,  and  this,  lia  said,  in  the  name  of  the  King, 
Albany,  and  the  Lord  Esk. 

"  And  what  if  we  will  not  ?  "  I  cried,  facing  them  as 
they  crowded  before  me. 

"  Why,  then,"  he  answered,  "  we  must  cut  thee  down ; 
but  ye  are  fools,  seeing  ye  are  so  few  and  we  so  many." 

"Many  or  few,"  I  cried,  "in  the  name  of  the  Earl 
of  the  Cattjmes,  if  a  man  pass  here  he  shall  die  !  "  At 
that  he  made  a  pass  at  me  with  his  sword,  but  I  struck 
it  from  his  hand  with  my  great  blade,  and  the  rest  who 
followed  at  his  back  covered  him  as  he  fell.  I  knew 
not  much  more  for  some  time,  save  that  I  swung  my 
blade  and  that  those  who  got  past  me  were  met  by  my 
good  fellows  behind.  There  was  much  cursing  and 
hammering  of  blades,  and  many  on  both  sides  went 
down.  But  this  could  not  go  on  for  ever.  Of  a  sudden 
my  foot  slipped  in  a  pool  of  blood,  where  a  poor  follow 
lay  dying ;  and  ere  I  recovered  I  received  a  stroke  on 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  225 

nune  wm.  and  wa<  ,lown.  and  the  fight  was  over  in 
a  moment. 

"Harm  him  not !  V  ,ed  the  young  .quire,  who  had 

Thl^l.  "^w  r  ?'    ^'  ^  "^  '°°''  *>»*  »  brave  one." 
Then  ml]  or  ml  I  had  to  follow  where  they  went  on. 

there.''^'  "'  '"*'^''  '  "  ^  ""'"*•     "  '^^^^  ^^«  '*^««  »P 

"They  shall  be  treated  with  all  courtesy,"  he  an- 
swered.     -  But  are  there  others  ?  " 

1  Ju^*^l"  ^  ''"^'^'  "  "^^  ""^  *^«  garrison."  And  he 
looked  a  me  and  smiled  with  a  grim  humour,  as  with 
but  a  sullen  look  I  foUowed  him  up 


15 


<  (:■ 


CHAPTER  XXI 

XyHEN  I  arrived  at  the  great  hall  where  they  took 
me,  we  found  that  the  lady  countew  had  made 
her  stand  there,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  earls  to 
receive  strangers  on  all  occasions  of  state.  There  we 
found  her,  fierce  and  proud,  standing  beside  the  chair 
of  state.  At  one  side  of  her  was  the  Lady  Margaret 
and  the  countess's  women,  who  shrank  as  if  in  terror 
of  what  might  yet  come,  for  on  the  occasion  of  the  sacking 
of  castles  all  sorts  of  horrors  have  happened.  But  the 
lady  countess  stood  as  firmly  and  proudly  as  if,  instead 
of  awaiting  her  enemies,  she  was  to  receive  some  guest. 
H(f  terrible  anxiety  for  her  son,  which  I  knew  well 
was  filling  her  breast  with  anguish,  was  hidden  as  if 
under  a  presence  of  marble,  and  for  all  her  cruelty  to 
me,  and  her  proud  scorn,  I  could  not  but  admire  this 
carriage  of  hers  that  surpassed  the  courage  of  most  men 
in  that  her  most  terrible  hour.  Even  the  young  squire 
who  preceded  me  was  daunted  by  her  appearance,  as,  more 
like  an  avenging  demon  or  an  angry  queen,  than  a  lone 
woman  trapped  in  her  own  hall,  she  demanded  fiercely— 
"  Who  are  ye  who  dare  thus  intrude  on  the  sanctity 
of  Castle  Gimigoe  ?  " 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


227 
for  the  moment  to  fora«f  «  „,-        .       .      caused  him 

King'.  ple„„„...         "^  *"'■"«•  "•"»  «"  ««t  the 

"  Thou  .halt  not !  ••  .he  cried.     '•  Rather  »  .V 
tmned  majestically  '.rii.  ,k„  "'    ''"'  "»"■ 

".««.  by  whatevef  „.:     'taZl'l"''"  T  ""'" 
my  wi,  the  earl  retun,.  J.' uT  "  =   '"  """n 

-« thee  r!hr:^;t;  1 1  "n-'" "" 

pe^on  and  thi.  ca.tle  b;  tl^^p^  *"?.  Tt*  "^ 
tinued  .peldng  the  widien  of^K  *°  """■ 

the  hall,  .howJM  in  .,!^  ■  """^  """""I'd  into 

th.t  I  woZd  a"  :   a^r  f"^"""  "»°"»" 

dwelling  upon  one  matter  U2.,  ^  T  "" ''°'' 
the  earl  ere  he  returned  we^fett  T  .  '  *°  '"" 
.nd  even  though  my  TrL  Z*'  ll*""^  "P"^  • 
'o»  »f  blood,  f  tried  ZL2,i  ^  '"  ""''  •""■ 
the  hall  unnoticed,  but  the  yt^!' iXT'  "  """^ 
me,  said  stemJy—  ^^^  ^^®'  ^^°  perceived 

"Move  you  not,  sirrah!"    Then    f,,    • 
countess,  he  spake—  '  ^™^«  **>  'he 

this  caatle.    We  hi;  aTf^"^"  •"  ■"  P«««i»n  of 

*"  "*  «"«  in  our  hand.,  and 


228 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


m  I 


thy  son,  the  earl,  is  even  now  on  his  way  in  quick 
retreat  hither." 
"  Dread  Heaven  !  "  she  cried.  "  My  son  !  my  son  !  " 
"Thou  seest  that  resistance  is  useless,  madam," 
continued  the  squire.  "He  also  will  soon  be  our 
prisoner ;  but  I  have  orders  to  say  that  none  in  this 
castle  will  be  molested.  Our  striot  commands  are 
for  the  earl  alone." 

"  Let  me  go  to  him !  Let  me  pass  ! "  she  cried  in 
a  moment  of  agony. 

"  Nay,  madam,"  said  the  squire,  with  much  respect, 
but  firmness,  "  I  must  detain  you."  Then  he  cried 
to  his  officers,  "  See  that  none  leave  the  hall." 

Then  it  was  wonderful  to  see  her  recover  her  cold 
pride,  as  though  ashamed  of  her  momentary  emotion. 
"  Let  Heaven's  will  be  done,"  she  said,  "  for  I  defy  the 
King,  as  my  son  will  do  when  he  doth  come."  Not  a 
word  more  did  she  say,  except  in  a  fine  scorn. 

"  A  nice  trap  in  which  to  catch  an  earl,  my  brave 
squire.  Did  you  but  meet  him  in  the  open,  it  were 
otherwise  this  would  end."  Then  she  sat  down  and 
moved  not,  but  seemed  Uke  some  cold  lady  of  marble, 
as  we  all  stood  in  that  great  hall  awaiting  the  return 
of  the  Master  of  Gimigoe.  And  a  grim  welcome  it 
was  for  my  brave,  generous  brother,  and  as  cruel  a 
trap  as  ever  sprung  on  a  bold  and  unsuspecting  man. 

I  could  not  help  moving  up  to  where  mine  imcle 
stood,  looking  on  as  careless  as  if  but  an  indifferent 
spectator  of  a  scene  in  which  he  had  no  interest. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


239 

.torn!  «  m„eh  «  .  toge,  „,  eyelwh.    Then  he  looked 
me  over  with  a  «>rt  of  fine  contempt 

"  -l^tt  k"  ■"  """^  "  "  '"°'*^  ™  '"  «'»  «"t  time. 
t«  he  bn.vem.eter  armourer  and  faithful  warder." 

workmlB'w       •^'""''•"  '  °-"""^''-  "--'  thou 
work  Ul  «,  hght  agamet  tUne  own  and  wear  such  mirth  ' 

Beware,  or  I  wiUteU  my  tale  of  what  I  know.  "I 

anl«^."  "''"^  "'^«"'   -^  fe'low-plotter,"   he 

"Thy  feUow-plotter  ?     What  mean  you  ?  "  I  Baid 
forhjeword,hilmeHkeadapinthef«=e  ' 

"oh^r  f  P'o'^'tation,!"   he   anawered. 

Oh,  thon  pnnce  of  mummer,,  hath  I  not  wit  to  «e 

*^  _under  aU  thy  pretenee  thou  wert  with  me  ^  Z 

"  Thou  dareM  accuee  me  of  that  ? "  I  .„,,,„<, 

nlTtt  0^'°  7Z  71  r '"'' '    '  *"■  '"°'"'  '"' 
when  heTued  Je  back   ■*  '  "''"^''  '°™°"'  '^  "^'^^ 

well  a,  I.    Who  waa  .t  but  thee  who  rtole  the  boat  ? 


230 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


!f 


\m\ 


Thou  it  was  who  didst  aid  the  prisoner  to  escape." 
Here  I  started  at  his  words. 

"  Ha !  Thou  understandest,"  he  went  on.  "  Then 
which  of  us  dost  thou  think  would  be  suspected  of  this 
treachery  didst  thou  speak  out  ?  I  am  an  old  retainer 
of  this  family,  devoted  to  the  Church,  retired  from  the 
world  and  its  ambitions,  treated  in  this  castle  with  aU 
honour  and  confidence.  Now  how  is  it  with  thee  ? 
Thou  art  an  outcast,  a  rival  brother  of  the  earl,  re- 
ceiving but  contempt  and  iU  words  from  aU  here  ,  and 
a  rival  not  only  tl)  thy  brother  in  his  earldom,  but 
also,"  he  hissed,  "  in  his  love." 

At  this  I  started  from  him  as  though  he  were  a  snake 
that  had  stung  me.  "  Thou  art  no  man,  but  a  fiend, 
an  incarnate  fiend!"  I  cried.  But  he  only  laughed. 
"Now,  my  brave  accuser,  stand  an  thou  darest!" 
he  chaUenged.  "TeU  thy  brave  tale,  and  I  wiU  teU 
mine ! " 

Bad  as  I  thought  matters  to  be,  this  was  worse  than 

I  could  ever  have  imagined.    "  Thou  devil,"  I  answered, 

"  thou  hast  the  best  of  me,  as  thou  ever  hast  had,  and 

of  all  in  this  house  ;  but  remember,  I  will  get  the  better 

of  thee  yet."    But  he  only  laughed  once  more  in  my 

face ;    so  I  left  him,  and  moved  back  to  my  former 

place.    For  I  could  not  stand  in  his  sight  and  not  desire 

to  kill  him— an  awful  feeHng  when  he  was  of  mine  own 

kin  and  blood ;   but  something  now  took  place  which 

made  me  forget  even  this  ill  man  and  his  desperate 

schemes,  which  was  the  coming  home  of  my  brother. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  231 

It  «,med,  M  we  learned  afterward,  that  he  found  ao 
aoon  «  he  opened  the  .tt«,k  that  he  had  been  trappe" 
«d  cheat*,.  Tho^h  the  enemy  p„tended  .0  Tat 
wt,  they  were  clo«  at  watch  for  attack  at  aU  point.  ■ 
Md  were  even  aware  of  the  earl'a  propoaed  pit  o't 

.Tlw  ""         V"  """■  '-^"O  "'  "^kavi^  them 
.td,«^vantoge,  they  held  hnn  at  bay  by  re.«.n  of  the 

«^„»  he  had  got  in  pla«  of  the  .urprii  he  had  hopj 

to  g.ve  them     But  he  wa.  , Jiaut,  thi.  brother  of  JL. 

and  not  ea«ly  daunted,  and  hi,  courage  fired  hia  f°I 

ttor  boldne*  thougu  they  knew,  now  their  eye.  were 
opened,  that  they  fought  in  deaperate  »«.  They  1^ 
^u.  contended  vahant.y  for  »me  time,  when,^v^ 
mgU^t  therr  enemy  wa. .tronger in  number. «,d  better 
t^.  even  my  brother,  who«  reckle«  courage  would 
»«.  braved  everything,  began  to  «e  that  t^  td 

mreat  gradually  and  not  hurriedly ;  but  a.  men  who^ 
k^g  come  out  to  hit  h«d,  were  minded  to  g^  T^k 
t«<Wy.  and  g,ve  blow  for  blow  a.  they  went.  But  t^v 
»«n  found  that  .hi.  wa.  no  ea.y  Zu.  for  theLte^ 

^en>eof.tt«king  the  enemy  from  the  other«de,.way 
fem  the  c«tle,  now  placed  the  foe  betwixt  the^.  a^d 
tte^  .0  e  place  of  refuge.  Some  leader,  on  J^g  t^ 
would  have  dcpaired.  But  thi,  only  made  the  «^ 
more  reck,e»,  and  he  decided  to  makJ  an  eflort ten 
t»  way  through,  matead  of  waiting  to  get  around.  2 
wa.y  Graham,  however,  who  preferred  to  take  him  ahVe 


232  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

and  who  knew  he  had  him  at  aU  sides,  let  him  force  his 
way,  natheless,  so  that  in  time  he  got  clear  with  «ome 
of  his  foUowers.  and  fomid  himself  alone  in  the  dark  at 
the  front  of  his  own  castle  gates.    Here,  seeing  no  light, 
but  finding  the  drawbridge  as  had  been  arranged  b/the 
toe,  a  cooler  and  more  crafty  man  would  have  smelled 
treachery ;  but  not  so  the  young  earl.    Bidding  his  few 
menfoUow,  he  crossed  the  bridge,  where,  finding  the 
courtyard  also  deserted  and  dark,  he  haUed  the  garrison. 
Uettmg  no  answer,  even  he  felt  that  it  were  somewhat 
ominous ;  but  disriiounting  and  leaving  his  horse  in  care 
of  his  sqmre.  he  went,  sword  in  hand,  and  came  in  and 
up  into  the  castle,  untU  he  stood  at  the  door  of  the  great 
dimng-haU,  and  so  met  his  fate. 

When  he  looked  in  at  us  aU,  and  saw  the  castle,  the 
hold  of  his  fathers,  in  the  possession  of  his  armed  foes, 
and  his  proud  lady  mother  standing  there  so  white  and 
desolate,  for  a  moment  his  heart  sank  within  him     He 
started  and  his  face  went  ashen.    But  it  was  only  for 
a  moment.    He  was  a  St.  Qair  of  the  Isles,  of  a  brave 
race,  who  never  flinched  at  pain  or  death,  and  met  even 
disgrace  and  aU  but  dishonour  with  a  proud  face.    So 
he  stood  for  a  second  as  it  were,  taking  it  aU  in,  and  then 
walked  up  proudly  and  cahnly  along  the  armed  lines  of 
his  grmi.  silent  enemies  and  his  prisoned  retainers ;  and 
coming  to  where  his  mother  sat,  knelt  at  her  feet  and 
took  her  hand. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "oh,  my  lady  mother!    Could 
1  have  but  spared  thee  this !  "    And  when  I  saw  him  do 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  233 

thia  80  nobly  and  calmly,  as  if  he  were  entering  a  peaceful 
state  drawing-room.  I  forgot  all  he  had  done  of  iU  to  me 
and  I  loved  him  and  was  proud  of  him  as  my  brother 
and  as  a  man. 

Then  he  rose  from  his  knees,  and  turned  to  my  uncle. 
aU  of  )m  .other's  look  at  this  most  dread  moment  flaming 
m  his  face  as  he  said— 

"Mine  eyes  are  opened,  my  damned  uncle.    I  owe  all 
of  this  to  thee ! »  and  with  his  iron  glove  struck  him  hard 
m  the  face.    It  was  the  one  wrong,  unknightly  deed  he 
did    but  I  cou^d  not  blame  him.  knowing  as  he  knew, 
and  as  I  had  always  known,  the  villainy  that  the  other 
had  worked  against  our  house.    But  mine  micle  did  not 
speak  or  shr.  only  there  came  over  his  face  a  more  sinister 
smile.  If  that  could  be  possible,  than  I  had  ever  seen  it 
wear,  and  as  he  regarded  his  nephew  I  knew  that  n.    ^ht 
but  my  brother's  death  would  now  appease  him.    I'he 
^y  countess  alone  started  and  cried.  "  Hugh,  my  son  » 
What  hast  thou  done  ?  "  6  .     y  son  . 

.L^l!  ^^f  «riedmy  brother,  "  and  let  him  tell  thee 
what  he  ha  h  done !  »  Then  he  turned  to  the  young 
sqmre,  who  had  stood  silent  aU  this  while,  and  handing 
him  his  sword,  said—  * 

"Sir  squire  you  are  mine  enforced  guest.  I  bid  thee 
good  e  en.  and  place  myself  in  thy  hands.  1  pray  but 
one  thing  of  you.  if  a  faUen  man  can  ask  aught,  the 
safety  and  care  of  my  lady  mother  here,  and  tl  lady 

::!:hrai^'r'^^'^^^'^^^''-^^^^-^-^- 


234 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"My  lord  earl,"  anawered  the  squire,  who,  like  all  of 
ua,  waa  struck  by  the  carl's  quiet  and  fine  manner  of 
taking  his  capture,  and  pitied  him  in  his  heart,  "  there 
will  naught  be  done  to  thy  lady  mother,  nor  to  this 
lady,  nor  to  this  castle,  my  commission  being  to 
secure  your  person  alone.  And  it  grieves  me  to  tell 
you  that  you  must  come  with  me  to  the  Lord 
Graham  of  Esk,  to  be  his  prisoner  to  the  King  at 
StirUng." 

Nay,  sir ! "  cried  the  countess,  in  great  agony ; 
"  then  he  is  doomed  !  They  will  slay  him  !  Oh,  my 
son,  my  son !  why  didst  thou  leave  the  castle  ?  "  Then 
for  the  first  time  in  my  knowledge  of  her  did  this  strong 
woman  seem  to  totter  and  fall ;  but  the  earl  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  and  the  Lady  Margaret  \viped  her  lips,  and 
she,  after  a  space,  came  to.  Then  staggering  to  her  feet, 
she  cried,  "My  son!  0  God!  my  son!  Where  is 
my  son  ? "  But  during  her  swoon  he  had  kissed  her  for 
the  last  time  and  was  gone. 

Next  day  at  sunrise  the  army  left  the  castle,  and  with 
it  the  young  earl  went  a  prisoner.  Ere  he  left  the  gates 
I  tried  to  get  speech  with  him,  for  my  heart  was  full, 
and  I  desired  that  he  should  be  at  one  with  me  ere  he 
departed ;  for  my  mind  was  sore  with  a  dread  thought 
that  he  would  never  come  back  alive.  I  knew  that, 
added  to  the  many  wrongs  and  ills  that  the  cruel  Albany 
had  against  him,  the  blow  on  the  priest's  face  was  the 
seal  of  his  death  sentence.  I  came  up  beside  his  horse, 
whereon  he  sat  pale  and  silent,  betwixt  two  armsmen 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  235 

who  rode  on  either  side  ;  and  I  said,  with  nome  sort  of 
agony  in  my  voice — 

"Hugh,  my  brother,  have  ye  no  farewell  for  thy 
brother  Ian  ? "  But  he  looked  full  ahead,  as  though 
he  saw  me  not,  and  I  then  knew  that  he  deemed  me  a 
party  to  the  priest's  treachery ;  for  now,  when  too  late, 
he  saw  I  had  wrongs  against  him,  and  judged  me  by 
those  wrongs.  "  Hugh,"  I  cried  again,"  doubt  me  not ; 
my  heart  is  woe  for  thee  !  "  Then  he  turned  and  looked 
at  me,  and  there  was  a  great  scorn  in  his  eyes  as  he  said — 

"  Words  are  little  use  in  my  case ;  'tis  deeds  that 
speak ! " 

"Hugh,"  I  answered  in  my  agony,  "my  brother, 
believe  me  true  !  I  have  ever  been  leal  to  thee  through 
it  aU." 

"  Then  show  it  to  them,"  he  cried.  "  For  me  it  is 
too  late ;  show  it  to  them,  be  true  to  her,  and  to  her." 
Then  he  rode  out  proud  and  brave,  as  though  he  rode  to 
some  hunting  or  a  field  of  victory  rather  than  to  his 
death.  But  his  words  smote  me  hard,  for  I  knew  that 
he  meant  by  "  her  "  and  "  her  "  his  lady  mother  and 
that  other  one,  so  dear  to  us  both  ;  and  his  "  her  "  and 
"  her  "  sounded  in  my  heart  many  a  day  after. 


CHAPTER^XXII 

mHAT  was  but  a  sad  and  woeful  time  for  those  of 
us   left  in   Castle   Gimigoe,  which  foJJowed  on 
the  departure  of  the  Earl  Hugh  to  meet  his  death 
There  were  but  few  of  us  left  in  the  castle,  as  the  most 
of  the  retainers  were  either  dispersed  to  their  homes 
or  had  gone  themselves  out  of  timidity,  not  caring  to 
be  foun.  too  close  to  a  house  trembling  on  the  verge 
to  a  fall.    Not  that  they  were  not  true  to  their  lord's 
fanuly,  for  they  would,  as  they  had  shown  before,  have 
shed  their  blood  and  have  given  of  their  substance 
so  long  as  the  earl  was  in  need  of  their  aid.    But  so 
soon  as  the  case  had  gone  out  of  their  hands,  as  it  were, 
they  thought  it  the  more  prudent  to  await  the  issue  of 
the  doom  that  threatened  Gimigoe  as  simple  vassals 
rather  than  as  armed  retdiuers  of  a  ruined  house.    As 
there   was  no  immediate   danger   from  any  quarter 
my  duty  as  warder,  which  office  still  remained  with 
me  by  virtue  of  the  earl's  last  words,  and  because  none 
other  cared  to  usurp  my  place,  was  on  the  whole  but  a 
shght  one.    My  duties  were  to  see  that  the  gate  was 
closed  and  the  drawbridge  up  each  night  and  morn; 
and  also  to  see  that  all  was  lawful  and  quiet  about  the 


f? 


I 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  237 

place,  all  of  which  took  but  little  of  my  time.    For 
this  reason  I  had  much  leisure  to  study  the  conditions 
of  our  ruined  fortunes.    By  the  few  retainers  left  little 
was  said  in  my  presence,  but  what  little  I  heard  gave 
rae  less  hope  for  the  future  of  my  house.    That  the 
earl  would  be  executed,  and  the  earldom,  with  its  feofis 
and  holds,  would  be  handed  over  to  some  other  lord, 
perchance  he  of  Esk,  was  a  commonly  accepted  belief 
throughout  the  castle.     Now,  apart  from  my  sorrow 
and  fear  for  Hugh,  this  apparent  ruin  and  confiscation 
of  the  earldom  was  but  ill  news  to  me,  who  knew,  as  I 
did,  that  I  was  without  doubt  the  rightful  owner  as 
eldest  son  and  heir  of  my  father ;  and  that  as  the  crimes 
committed,  for  which  punishment  was  enforced,  were 
none  of  mine,  it  would  be,  therefore,  both  a  great  wrong 
and  an  illegal  matter  on  the  part  of  the  King,  or  others, 
to  sequester  titles  and  estates  from  their  proper  possessor 
and  inheritor  without  just  cause.    This  I  came  to  know 
afterward.    But  even  the  slightest  knowledge  I  had, 
or  suspected  at  the  time,  availed  me  not,  as  I  could  not, 
had  I  proved  my  title,  which  I  was  unable  to  do,  have 
had  the  heart  to  oust  my  brother.    I  was  also  aware 
that  he  would  rather  die  as  he  was.  Earl  of  the  Cattynes, 
than  accept  his  life  at  the  expense  of  such  degradation. 
This,  then,  was  my  position  and  state  of  affairs  at  this 
time. 

The  lady  countess  I  had  not  seen  since  the  night 
of  the  earl's  departure,  and  did  not  meet  her  for  some 
time  after.    She  had  kept  to  her  rooms  at  first  in 


t 


TJ".Jgi! 


ittiiMiiiiHAi&k 


ttam^ 


[a^ 


238  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

great  grief  and  illnew  of  body,  bewaiUng  her  son  as 

fr.    /;;  .  ^"[  ^"""^   "    *"^«^-    ««'«  -h«  "tayed. 
attended  by  the  Lady  Margaret,  for  she  would  see  no 
one  else ;  nor  could  she  at  first  be  prevaUed  upon  to" 
go  even  to  the  chapel,  declaring  that  Heaven  in  its 
vengeance  had  doomed  her  house,  and  that  the  curse 
was  so  great  as  to  maice  it  useless  to  pray  any  more. 
After  a  time  she  gradually  became  mo.tj  calm,  and 
recovered  some  of  her  old  pride  and  temper.    Knowing 
this,  and  feehng  a  sense  of  insecurity  in  my  temporarv 
position  as  ruler  of  the  castle.  I  tried  to  get  a  message 
to  her.  but  I  was  told  that  at  mere  mention  ofmy 
name  she  went  into  a  violent  rage,  cursing  me  and 
laying  on  my  head  most  of  the  tribulation  of  her 
house. 

^^  "What  right  hath  such  as  he  to  be  here,"  she  cried 
when  my  son-my  son-is  departed  hence?    Chamber- 

^L  .  !  ''''''  °'  ""^ '    ^'^'  ^*^«  •  -pit 

dog  fiU  the  place  than  such  as  he  !  " 

80  she  received  my  message,  and  I  had  to  go  on 
and  hold  my  patience  until  she  should  see  fit  either 
to  endure  my  guardianship  or  cut  me  off.    Meanwhile 
I  tried  to  get  matters  into  some  sort  of  shape  for  the 
coming  bitter  season,  which  is  a  trying  one  in  our 
northern  country  of  bleak  mountains  and  wild,  madden- 
mg  sea.    Much  provision  and  fuel  had  to  be  coUected 
to  provide  for  the  long  months  that  were  ahead,  and 
with  our  reduced  retainers  and  scattered  vassals   who 
were  not  too  ready  to  respond  to  any  tax  at  so  perilous 


UN  01'  THE  ORCADES 


239 
•nd  uncertain  .  «„„,  ,„„i    ^^^ 

of  .11  thu  d,„  trouble,  kept  him«lf  to  hj,  i|l.,„,r 
«d  what  he  buried  him«l(  .bout  I  neither  Imew"; 
c.«d  though  I  h.d  .„.pici„„  th.t  it  w„  not  ZZ 
good  to  the  poor  y„„„g  ,„,.     However,  „  w.,der 

to  ell  hm  to  «>cou„t  for  U.  mi«,«,d,,  j^  ,  /      / 

«d  I  .^olved  to  try  one  I«t  effort  to  get  hin,  to  Jl 

when     '^/"f°\°'»  'o  «^»<»  tie  e.rr.  perilou.  plight 
when  suddenly  her  Wphip  the  co«nte«  knoclLf  .U 

«.d  M,„nang  the  ml,  of  the  ortle  herwlf 

ThM  becme  .ppwent  one  morning   when  I  ..„, 
dov™  to  give  n,y  order,  for  the  d.y  L    ™  Ll  .1 
we„  «cure  when  the  old  ^^,  .  ,j^,  ,  J^*^ 

r.;zrerin:?-ttr:.r:r„- 

to  thee  MMter  Im,  tell  him,  eh.  «uth,  th.t  he  may 
bone  .„d  w.ter,  but  naught  more;  „d,  m",^^ve° 

«nr::^r"'-*--^^-'''-°ro: 

"Thou  old   .h.mbling    fool,"   I  oried,   "thou   ill 


I 


ja^sfe^fe^..  .....-, ...-.^.i^i^jg:^', 


240 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


I 


varlet,  tell  thy  lady  that,  were  it  not  that  her  son  bado 
me  stay,  I  would  not  be  here  now  !  " 

"  Ho,  ho !  varlet  me  not,  thou  Master  Ian ! " 
said  th*?  spiteful  ancient,  "who  hath  a  better  right 
to  my  name  than  some  I  wet  of." 

"How  now,  thou  decrepit  hound!"  I  cried,  and 
in  my  rage  I  threatened  him  with  my  warder's  staflF. 
"  Dost  thou  dare  ?  " 

"  Ho,  ho !  we  arc  high  and  mighty."  he  answered, 
showing  his  gri/xning,  toothless  gums ;  "  and  wouldst 
thou  kill  me  also  as  thou  hast  the  young  earl  ?  " 

"Varlet!"  I  cried  in  rage  and  shame,  "thou 
liest ! " 

"  'Tis  no  lie,"  he  answered  impudently.  "  The 
whole  castle  holdeth  it  true." 

"  Thou  tellest  me  this  ?  They  believe  this  of  me  ?  " 
I  said  in  my  amazement. 

"Yea,"  he  answered,  "that  thou  soldest  him  to 
the  King.  Yea,  even  the  lady  countess  and  the  Lady 
Margaret  Seton  doth  believe  it."  And  he  grinned  at 
me  with  such  a  malicious  leer  that  had  he  not  been 
such  a  shambling,  decrepit  bit  of  mortality  I  think 
that  in  my  rage  I  would  have  crushed  him  where 
he  stood. 

"  Go  !  "  I  cried,  "  go  and  tell  thy  lady  that  my  word 
to  her  son  compels  me  to  stay  here ;  but  that  beyond 
this  she  shall  have  no  trouble  of  my  presence.  Now, 
go ! "  And  I  think  that  I  forgot  myself  and  his  age,' 
for  he  gave  me  but  one  look,  and  the  malice  died  out 


!*» 


■^ 


UN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


time."  he  said  "i.„rT        A    *^^  """"^  '"'  "^'n* 

And  why  not  f  "  he  ,^d  blitwlv     "  Lit.  .k 

-".t  n«d.,  rino.  my  lord',  miiT^  k  ^^ 

leHor  wk„  i.  .     .•''""'  going,  get  her  s  new  oon- 
^^who  u  connng  here  in  A^  time ;  „  „,  ,„,t 

"  Great  Heaven,  man !  "  I  crii»#i    «•  fk^      _x 

cruel  and  inhuman  as  ilJ^Zk-     ,      *"*  "°*  '° 
♦!,„     I  ^^    tw  w)  go  trom  this  p  ace  and  Ipaxto 

these  lone  women  as  they  are  ?  " 

"Yea.  that  I  wiU."  he  answered.     "Who  ar«  . 
to  keep  me  here,  when  my  spiritual  woTk   / L"  ^ 
I  have  matters  on  hand,  higher  matters  th  J 
-portant  than  attending  u^n  I T^  '^Z  Th^ 
-  temj^r  «  more  man  than  woman;  and  0^;.:^° 


u 


242 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


'i' ; 


:i 


a  foolish  girl  who  knoweth  not  her  own  mind,  even  for 
her  own  good." 

"What  meanest  thou?"  I  cried.  "The  Lad/ 
Margaret,  what  of  her  ?  " 

"Now  keep  thy  reason,  master  clerk,  or  master 
armourer,  or  master  warder,  or  air  earl.  Which  shall 
it  be  ?  "  he  cried  sneeringly.  "  I  have  told  thee  often, 
with  much  truth,  that  this  maiden  is  not  for  thee." 

"  I  care  not,"  I  cried,  "  save  that  she  may  be  true 
to  my  poor  brother." 

"  And  thou  wouldst  have  me  believe  all  that  ?    What 

if  I  told  thee  more,  that  the  girl "  here  he  paused 

maliciously.  "Nay,  thou  blind  fool  and  saintly 
brother,  thou  most  magnanimous  Esau,  thou  must  mole 
thine  own  way  through  this  matter.  But  I  would  say 
to  thee,  thy  staying  here  hath  not  raised  thy  character 
in  her  eyes." 

"I  know  it,"  I  cried.  "She  despiseth  me  and 
detestel^  me." 

"  And  who  would  not  ?  "  he  answered.  "  It  is  not 
in  a  young  girl  not  to,  when  thou  shuttest  thyself  up 
here,  and  thy  brother  in  peril." 

"  And  thou  sayest  that  to  me  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Oh ! 
what  can  I  do  I  I  will  kill  myself  if  harm  cometh  to 
him." 

•  "  Nay,  thou  fool,  better  come  with  me  and  accept 
my  terms,  and  all  thi^  will  be  changed." 

"And  sell  ir>y  brother,  mine  uncle  Angus?"  I 
cried. 


(^ 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  243 

"  Then  I  am  done  with  thee,"  he  said,  and  he  started 
to  go. 

"Stay!"  I  cried,  "mine  uncle!  One  moment! 
He  is  thy  brother's  son !  " 

"  The  more  reason  I  should  hate  him,"  he  answered. 

"  But  hast  thou  no  pity,"  I  cried,  "  no  feeling,  no 
human  feeling  ?  " 

"  Feeling  ?  "  he  nswered,  and  he  went  white  under 
his  dark  skin ;  "y.^,  I  have  feeling.  Master  Ian,  and 
'tis  here ! "  and  he  pointed  to  his  cheek.  It  was  aU 
he  said,  but  I  knew  that  mine  argument  was  useless. 

"Then  go,  thou  vile  kinsman,"  I  said.  "But  I 
teU  thee  phiin,  for  all  thine  iU-schemes,  I  wiU  baulk  thee 
yet."  He  turned  and  looked  at  me  a  moment,  as  if 
pondering ;  then  he  said,  "  Yea,  'tis  best  that  thou 
shouldst  stay  here,  where  thou  art  least  troublesome." 
Then  he  added,  "  Yea,  thou  mayst  spoU  my  plans 
yet ;  but  if  thou  dost  so  'twill  not  be  because  of  thy 
mother-wit,  but  rather  by  thy  cursed  folly."  And 
with  that  he  had  passed  out,  and  I  saw  him  no  more  to 
speak  to  in  this  world. 

I  was  now  left  entirely  to  mine  own  self  and  my 
poor  resources  in  this  lonely  world  of  castie,  mountain, 
moorland,  and  sea.  Having  none  to  speak  to,  shunned 
and  suspected  by  all,  it  is  no  wonder  that  mine  old 
manner  of  solitary  dreaming  and  lonely  love  of  sea  and 
hillside  came  back  to  me  once  more.  "Fate  hath 
doomed  me  to  a  life  of  loneUness,"  I  cried  in  my  heart. 
"Nature  only  is  true  and  kindly.    Though  she  be 


n 


244 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


^  ^  i 

i 
( 

li  ' 


cruel,  yet  she  hath  a  tenderness  and  a  truth  that  is  not 
to  be  found  in  mankind."  And  I  found  that  solace  in 
lonely  walk  by  cahu  and  restless  wave  and  the  desokte 
glen  and  lonely  strath,  which  most  men  find  in  human 
companionship,  friendship,  and  love. 

I  now  took  to  my  craftsmanship  once  more,  and, 
after  much  failure  and  labour,  constructed  me  a  craft 
somewhat  like  that  I  had  sent  away  with  my  friend 
the  prisoner.    With  this  boat  I  floated  out  from  the 
little  cove  under  the  castle's  foundation,  and  made  me 
voyages  of  discovery.    At  first  I  thought  at  times  that 
I  should  be  wrecked  or  cast  away;    but  by  patience 
and  perseverance  I  soon  came  to  accustom  myself  to 
the  water  as  to  the  land,  and  went  on  considerable  cruises 
without  knowledge  of  anyone,  for  no  one  cared  whether 
I  came  or  went.    I  also  made  journeys  by  land,  skirting 
the  shores  and  exploring  the  straths,  and  also  went  as 
far  as  the  strath  where  I  had  formerly  dwelt,  but  found 
the  old  huntsman  was  either  dead  or  gone,  for  the 
place  was  deserted.    Seeing  that  all  here  was  desolate, 
I  paid  me  a  visit  to  my  mother's  grave,  and  I  found  to 
my  surprise  that  the  cairn  was  not  only  well  preserved, 
but  that  the  appearance  of  some  fond  care  was  evident. 
As  I  approached  I  noticed  a  strange  man  kneeling  as 
if  saying  his  prayers.    He  rose  as  I  drew  near,  and 
looked  at  me  without  speaking.    He  was  a  great,  wild- 
looking  man,  with  long  beard  and  hair,  and  a  dark,  fierce 
look,  and  there  was  somewhat  about  him  that  made  me 
think  that  I  had  seen  him  or  someone  like  him  before. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


M5 


Whf 


ho  art  thou,"  I  cried,  "  who  dareth  approach  a 
strange  grave  ?    What  dost  thou  here  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  wonderingly  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  said — 

"  Her  was  a  great  leddy,  as  sleeps  there ;  her  was 
of  a  great  people,  her  was," 

"What  knowest  thou  of  her  who  sleepeth  here  ?  " 
I  cried,  for  I  could  not  speak  of  my  mother  to  a  strange 
man,  such  as  this  was ;  though  I  marvelled  much  at 
what  he  had  said. 

"  It  is  not  for  herself  to  say  in  the  matter,  but  yon 
was  a  great  leddy ;  herself  haf  served  her  people  and 
herself's  fathers  haf  for  many  generations." 

Then  amazement  came  over  me.  What  could  this 
strange  mm  know  of  my  mother?  So  I  answered 
him,  "  Yea,  she  was  of  great  line,  of  noble,  of  royal 
blood."  He  looked  at  me  as  if  not  understanding ; 
then  he  said,  in  a  sort  of  fierce  contempt— 

"  Kings,  such  as  yon  at  StirUng !    Such  kings  haf 
had  honour  to  haf  hci-  fathers  marry  on  their  daughters." 
"  Then  why  doth  she  sleep  here,  in  this  lonely  place  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"Oh !  'tis  the  sad  story.  But  'tis  not  for  Tonald 
to  relate  to  a  stranger  of  the  Cattynes." 

"  Then  who  sent  ye  here-?  "  I  asked. 

"  Who  !  "  he  answered.     "  Who,  but  her  brother  ?  " 

"  But  who  is  he  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  that  thou  art  ignorant  and  close- 
reared  not  to  know  the  man  he  is,"  answered.the  strange 


i  ■( 


l,!i 


■M 


«46  TAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

a  name  to  a  mere  stranger  in  thi.  place" 

hrCttrS^r-"' «*'"»'»«-'«"«  Pe.«,„  WHO 

th:?;?r.;^m::^:/.r^'»-^"-»«^."-' 

"And  who  i.  it  who  diould  reqnire  henelf  to  .peak 
more  o^n  o«  »  gr.ve  a  matter !  It  ie  her«U  who 
hath  «ud  more  than  ,he  onght,  and  moreofer  Tonald  i. 

T.Z rf  ""'  ""^ P'^'"  »"' I  ™ '■=  "o  mood 
to  er„«  Wade,  with  this  wild  We<*emer.  or  iriandT 
a.  he  appeared  to  be  ;  and  I  answered  that  I  meant  noi 
toinmlthim.    Thenhewid—  eaninot 

W  rt.y«l  bnt  too  long ;  ,0  her«lf  wiU  bid  th,;  a  gj 

t'L':t2u  T  "*'"■  -^  '"*" "'  -^^ 

A.  he  went  with  great  rtride.  oyer  the  edge  ol  the 

^ht  k!  ™.  i°*  *"  "'"•  '  ■°«^«"=^  "'"oThi.  Jl 
^t  be.  and  how  much  of  all  of  thi,  he  «dd  about  my 

^  tL    V         >^  "°"  '■"■""^  ""y  l»i^  allied 
to  amngh  manage.    I  knew  in  mine  impeH^  way 
for  t^  pnert  had  ,„,d  me,  that  there  were'^.t  Zi 
to  th.  w«,tward.  wh„«,  chieftaim,  rivalled  o„r  earU 
u.  mer  and  pride  of  andent  line ;   and  I  ,„pp^ 


(Hii: 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


247 


that  he  must  be  one  of  theee  ;  but  which  one,  and  where 
he  could  be  found,  waa  beyond  my  reach  to  know.  So, 
taking  a  last  fond  look  on  the  grave  of  her  who  had 
loved  me  so  well,  I  retraced  my  steps  homeward. 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon  of  our  early  autumn, 
when  our  northern  world  hath  begun  to  put  on  in  its 
bleak  way  that  glory  and  splendour  of  colour  with 
which  it  becometh  Mother  Nature  to  deck  her  ere  her 
death.  Many  sad  thoughts  were  in  my  mind  as  I 
went,  and  I  gazed  upon  the  heather-clad  hills  and 
great  dim  mountains  of  the  far  west,  and  then  turned 
mine  eyes  to  the  vast  immensity  of  ocean  to  the  north 
and  east,  which  swept  in  its  desolateness  round  the 
far  lonesome  rim  of  the  world.  There  was  a  weirl 
grandeur  that  appealed  to  my  heart,  so  that  even  in 
my  solitary  sorrow  I  was  raised  to  a  better  spirit  and  a 
higher  mood  for  the  moment,  and  forgot  in  this  picture 
of  desolate  gn^adeur  the  great  trouble  of  my  life  that 
beset  me.  I  was  going  on  in  this  way  when  I  heard 
sounds  of  horses'  feet,  and,  looking  up,  saw  approaching 
near  me  the  Lady  Margaret,  pacing  on  her  palfrey, 
attended  by  one  single  armsman.  At  this  sudden 
sight  of  her,  who  was  ever  in  my  thoughts,  my  heart 
seemed  to  stop,  and  then  gave  a  great  bound  like  as  it 
were  to  burst.  Then,  as  I  looked  up,  our  eyes  met, 
and  we  both  were  for  a  moment  like  people  caught 
sudden  in  some  deep  thought ;  but  she  quick  collected 
herself,  and  with  but  a  cold  salute  of  her  shapely  head, 
made  as  if  to  pass  on.    But  the  sight  of  her  face,  that 


^H 


litaidBi 


^ 


348 


TAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


Of  e,p.3.on:  d:otrirc::;t7Lr?  t-^- 

toh«rMde,andMid-  "  "y"".  "d  I  stepped 

;;  I*iy  M.rg«e,,  ^nho„  not  tao,  „,  , ,. 
S,r    .hec„edcold),,..Iw„„H  , 

■11.  or  for  a,  „|,o,         ,,    .    ',.   . '^■'^>     '<»  U"'"! 

^Irt."^'  "  ■'*"•  •»«"-"--  I  Oo  in  tn.th 
i-.«^''i'^:7„t':;' "  "»'  •»"»"  I  -"d.  but 

-.o^det  beiir  rt,^'^x:^r ":  *" ""-" 

heart."  "«uonour  of  me  cuts  me  to  the 

w..IIt:^T '"""''"'«'■'»' I  """-i  not  the 

"  Why,"  she  answered  in  Bcom   "fi.-**u 
be  thinking  of  thy  miserable^^^  t^»t  thou  B^ouldst 

»uch  danger  to  thy  brother."  ^'  ""^*  °'  -° 

"  What  danger  ?  "  I  cried. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  249 

"Why,  heardst  thou  not  the  news  special  messenger 
hath  brought  this  day,  that  he— he  "—here  her  voice 
broke  to  a  sob,  which  she  quickly  checked—"  is  to  be 
executed  within  the  month  ? " 

"Dread  Heaven!"  I  answered.  "This  be  too 
terrible ! " 

"  And  thou  canst  think  of  thine  ills,"  she  said,  "  while 
such  dread  danger  overhangeth  him." 

"I  knew  it  not,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  no  knowledge, 
living  as  I  do.  I  am  but  an  outcast !  "  I  cried.  "  Oh  f 
what  can  be  done  ?  'Tis  the  work  of  that  cursed 
priest !  " 

"Priest  or  other,"  she  cried,  "it  shames  my  soul 
to  be  here  talking  to  thee  and  he  in  such  dread  peril." 

Even  then  her  manner  hurt  me,  and  I  said,  "I 
know  weU  what  thou  dost  mean.  Would  that  I  could 
help  him  and  thee." 

Thou  knowest  not  aU,"  she  cried,  fiercely  for  her. 
"  He  was  villainously  iU-treated,  deserted,  sent  to  his 
death  by  us  all-by  us  all !  Even  I-«ven  I  did  not 
think  of  him  as  I  should  have.  Yea,  he  was  worth  us 
ftU,  every  one  of  us.  And  we  have  let  him  go  to  his 
death." 

"Madam,"  I  cried,  for  her  words  cut  me  like  a 
knife—"  madam,  you  know  not  all." 

"Know!  "she  answered.  "  Tell  me,  thou,  what  to 
know,  or  what  to  do.  Would  I  were  a  man !  Oh ! 
we  women— we  women !  " 

"  Can  the  countess  do  naught  ?  "  I  cried ;  for  my  wits 


!.»**J  -J^  ■ 


«o  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

«.med  to  Wl  „„,  i„  tki,  ^,  ^jj  ^^^ 

»  r.th.r  p«t  m.,  with  a„.t  high  «„„  „j  ,„J,„,7^ 

k«t  fac.,  u  though  I  were  hot  nothing 

nlti^  h.;,7       L  »'""'■«  oJth.,!    Dctthou 
I™  doth  but  m.k.th  thing.  ,„^,    „„  pri^X 

u^ITpiaZritr'"''''""^'"*'' •«"*'«»' 

"  It  was  she  and  the  priest,"  I  cried 

"The  priest!    What  mean  you  t  "  she  asked. 

fanc^d  *"  "^'^  ^*^'^  ^  *^'^*«'^'  "  »»^  *  wrong  or 
fancied  wrong  against  my  father's  house.  You  fine 
ladies  blow  not  how  such  iU  rankles  in  us  men  » 

.„d  .  ,'f  "1  ''"'*''  «°  "^  ^"  ^«  »  ^««  ?  "  -he  said 
and  she  looked  at  me  so  truly  with  her  beautiful  e^c^.' 
foU  of  a  sad  wonder,  that  I  could  have  wished  mZi 
my  brother  to  have  her  sorrow  for  me  ^ 

a  "ir^'  °^y^^7."  I  cried.  «  Wve  but  madness  in 
Mood  man.  did  he  give  himself  up  to  such  a  ^IIJ 

fh  '\y  t"^"^*  *^°"  do  this  ?  »  she  said.  « I  know 
that  thou  hast  hef*  much  wrong." 

"Lady,  believe  me."  I  cried,  "I  have  h^  mn«i. 
^H  in  t^  pl-oe.  .o„  th«.  'thou  'Z\^^'. 
but  I  would  never  fo,g,t,  did  h,  oven  rtand  botXi 

"Say  on.  sirrah!    Say  on  !"  she  cried. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  251 

"  That  he  were  my  brother,"  I  continued. 

"  Did  I  think  that  thou  wert  like  that,"  she  cried, 
"  I  would  hate  thee,  I  would  scorn  thee.  But,"  she 
added,  "  these  are  all  but  brave  words.  Master  Ian." 

"  Brave  words  are  all  I  have,"  I  answered  ;  "  I  have 
naught  else,"  I  said  sadly. 

"  Thou  hast  thy  sword,"  she  said,  "  and  canst  use  it 
dost  thou  will." 

"  And  what  be  that  in  a  case  like  this,  my  lady  ? 
One  hand  and  one  blade  can  do  but  little." 

"  Lady  me  not  I  "  she  said  in  some  bitterness.  "  I 
am  but  a  poor  girl  in  a  sacked  castle,  with  my  betrothed 
at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold.  Dost  thou  know,  Master 
Ian,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  was  but  slow  to  wed 
him.  But  now  would  I  wed  him,  were  it  at  the  block." 
And  I  know  not  why  she  said  this,  for  she  was  ever 
proud  and  self-contained ;  but  it  struck  me  that  this 
were  the  end  of  life. 

"  He,  the  one  man  in  the  world  f "  she  continued, 
and  she  looked  so  beautiful  and  sad  when  she  said  it, 
that  I  gazed  at  her  in  wonder. 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  I  answered  stupidly.  "  But  I  am 
but  a  poor  youth.    What  wouldst  thou  have  mo  to  do  ?  " 

"Do!"  she  cried.  "Art  thou  blind?  Art  thou 
a  stock  ?  Hast  thou  no  sense  ?  What  else  shouldst 
thou  do,  but  take  me  with  thee  to  StirUng,  where  I  may 
see  his  prison,  and  where  I  may  go  to  this  same  Duke 
Albany,  whom  I  understand  is  real  king,  and  there  on 
my  knees  beg  him  for  his  life."    I  looked  my  wonder 


\'i 


353 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


•«  «he  Mid  this  in  her  paMion  *n^  -v 

meunmaidenJy    hnt  QnA  \.     T      \    Thou  thinkest 
elae."  ^'  ^  "  '"*"•"  '  ^an  do  naught 

"  Nay,  my  Jady,"  I  an«wei«d    «'  ♦k^ 
thoughts "  »n»wer«d,      thou  wrongest  my 

Do  I  not  «„;„^,'  ^"U^'  ?~7  """^  «•  thin.. 

«.o»  wen. , ..x  J jj  r  :r  t  •""• 

».>  wHt.  the  ,„t  woM  on'C  W.t^"-'"^". 
a,l    TioudMMtl    Tbo.dwe.t!" 

«crrao"L':fCtoir:  "'"■- 

nation."  '     ®"  ***  ^^^^^  «o«l «  dam- 

"  Sir,  I  did  not  think  this  of  thee  1 »» -fc-  .  * 
"  Oh  f  T  «-**  "»  ui  mee  i     she  answered, 

"fill  matter  not,  madam,"  I  cried     «  t  . 
of  thy  life.     But  I  8t)eak  fl.!  i^  *"  °"* 

Hkestitornot.  TlL^  bll^^^^  "'«*^-  «»- 
the  knowledge  of  thy  rank  a^  ^  u.^"^"'  '^^*^  *« 
but  too  e3to  sla^  t^,  ^^  ''f'^'  ^  °«J^e  men 

continueT^  it  ^;t  ,tf    1  ^""^  «**  *^^-    ^•^•"  ^ 
cu,     ii  were  but  madness  to  iro     Ti.-^  *i. 

tMt  a  cruel  enemy  there-    on«  „i,  *^°" 

to  avemre  a  hat«     A         .'  .        ^°  "*''«'  foigetteth 

canst  nlp^e^;.  ^^*  ^"^  ^^  '»>-«  otheTthou 


IAN  Oh  THE  ORCADES 

••  Then  what  would  thou  have  me  do } ' 
in  her  despair. 


253 
■he  asked 


'Do  thou  but  stay  L./e,  where  thou  art  safe 'with 
my  lady.    I  have  a  plan." 
"  Speak !    Speak,  quick !    What  ia  thy  plan  ?  "  she 

"  'Tis  but  a  poor  one,  but  'tis  my  best,"  I  ropUed. 
"I  will  go  myself."  ^ 

"  Thou !  "  she  cried,  as  if  in  wonder,  "  thou !    What 
couldst  thou  do  ?  " 

"  'Tis  but  little  that  I  can  do,  lady  ;   but  if  I  fail  I 
can  at  least  die,"  I  answered  in  some  bitterness.     "Qive 
me  time  to  think,"  I  continued.    "  Ther?  is  time  yet 
God  may  send  us  a  way." 

"  Heaven  send  He  may,"  she  answered,  in  her  great 

sorrow.    "  And  do  you  but  save  him "  she  cried  • 

but  I  stopped  her  there,  for  I  knew  that  she  would 
speak  of  reward. 

"  If  I  save  him,"  I  answered,  "  I  eave  him  not  for 
aU  the  kingdoms  of  this  world  or  the  next,  but  because 
he  IS  my  brother,  and— and  thy  betrothed  I  "    And  I 
looked  her  in  the  face,  who  was  aU  the  kingdom  I  wanted 
and  which  I  was  going  to  lose  for  evermore. 

What  there  was  she  read  in  my  face  I  know  not.  for 
It  IS  not  given  to  us  to  know  the  words  that  we  may 
often  speak  with  the  soul  to  those  whom  we  love  but 
she  looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of  amarement,  as  if  she 
had  then  known  me  for  the  first  time  as  I  really  was  • 
then  she  dropped  her  eyes  as  she  said— 


I( 


a34 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"  Pardon  m«,  if  I  h^ye  iiunltiui  *k 
n»  lu  1  am  to  him  whom  we  bcih  love  "  La  T  ♦    i/u 

^^w.p^.:;hrL^r^^^^ 

.hot'^tTe  td  onTeTn^^*  ^'^^  -'*^- 
other  like  unto  Tat  w    !,       "^«  •'^*^  '^^  -*•  on  the 

I"t  great  da^TnttH^rt:,^^^^^^  ^^  «>e 

;•*«.  in  a  great  black  JL^^  "Im  "IT"  "^^  °' 
felt  a  new  life  and  a  new  nLn^""*^-  ^"^  ^ 
Whether  she  or  Go^  WrttlJ^r  "^  "^  '^• 
"ot ;    but  an  idea  h^  "'  °'  '^^^^^  '  ^^^^^ 

y  mind  that  I  would 


them  both. 


1  give  up  mj  life  for 


CHAPTER  XXill 

JT  WM  a  wild  and  ra«h  thought,  thi.  ,aca  ui  mine 
to  die  for  my  brother.  How  it  came  into  the 
mmd  of  a  youth  «vch  aa  I  wa«.  God  only  know. ;  but 
I^uld  aee  no  other  way  out  save  by  such  a  desperate 
wwlve     All  good  impulses  and  reasons  were  guiding 

Til  'r  '°"'  '^'  "^^  ^«  -^  -^  b^^the^ 

I  could  never  hve  and  be  happy  knowing  that  he  died 

alone,  away  off  there,  without  my  hand  lifted  to  save 

him ;  and  I  could  never  have  her.  and  she  was  the  only 

woman  m  the  world  for  me.    So  that  there  was  t^ 

my  imnd  placed  as  I  was.  lost  to  aU  I  should  have 

been,  and  by  no  fault  of  thei«  or  mine,  but  one  way 

out  d  ««,  whole  dread  matter.    Then  they  might 

yet  be  hapj^,  though  I  could  never   be.    Th3l 

deeded  me  that  there  was  but  one  thing  in  this  world 

for  me  to  do.  and  to  do  it  weU. 

This  thought  possessed  me  like  wine  does  a  drunkard 

and  kept  me  in  sleep  and  waking ;  but  how  to  aooom-' 

phBh  It  were  another  matter.    Here  was  I.  a  lonely 

youth  m  a  remote  part  of  the  northern  country,  and 

that  dread  prison  was  far^ff.  ^  i  understood,  many 


256  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

days'  journey  to  the  southward,  out  beyond  the  grim 
Sutherland  mountains,  that  formed  so  forbidding  a 
bame,  betwixt  our  Und  and  the  great  country  beyond 
them     Added  to  this,  the  autumn  was  now  well  ad- 
vanced, and  if  I  did  not  soon  start  on  my  journey  my 
way  later  would  be  blocked  by  the  thousand  difficultiw 
inherent  to  the  inclement  season.    And  how  was  I 
a  ^r  untutored  youth,  who  had  traveUed  but  Uttle! 
to  find  my  road  and  keep  me  amid  the  myriad  dangers 
that  beset  even  the  most  experienced  traveUers  ?    It 
w*.  true  that  I  had  my  sword,  and  in  my  rude  way 
j^uld  use  .t,  but  that  is  not  much,  as  many  a  poor 
tad  hath  found  out  ere  now.    I  was  at  my  wits'  end  to 
know  how  to  proceed.    It  were  of  no  use.  I  knew 
to  apply  to  the  comitess.    She  would  only  scorn  me, 
Md  think  It  but  some  scheme  on  my  part  to  further 
complete  the  destruction  of  her  son  and  the  alienation 
of  the  pos««iona  of  her  house.    I  thought  it  out  aU 
that  mght,  but  as  it  seemed  to  no  purpose,  and  next 
mormng  I  went  down  to  take  a  dip  in  the  sea,  as  had 
beeniny  custom  of  late.    As  I  was  coming  out.  the 
«ght  of  the  craft  I  had  built  gave  me  a  sudden  thought. 
What  a  fool  I  have  been!"  I  cried.    "I  will  try 
my  friend  the  wild  lord,"  whom  I  had  aided  to  escape 
for  I  now  remembered  with  a  sudden  impulse  how  he' 
had  promised  to  come  to  my  aid  did  I  but  ask  Um 
With  a  new  hope  in  my  soul.  I  hastened  to  my  room 
and  got  out  the  stone  which  he  had  given  me,  and 
which  was  to  be  the  signal  on  my  part  that  I  was  in 


1 


UN  OF  THE  ORCADES  257 

n  °\f""  ''  ""^  •  "'""«••  greenish-colouml 
^.  with  «>me  .ndent  marks  upon  one  ride,  that 
^/'  look  not  unlike  what  i.  died  an  amulet  such 

ittT.Z^'"'''^'''''''^-  But  I  thought 
i^ught  of  It.  other  secret  qualitie..  except  to  put  k  to 

tITt  r  1.''**^  "•*  ^"  ^"^  '^'^^'^  I  '^•d  helped. 
Th«»  I  thought  me  that  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  Zd 

the  nature  of  my  trouble,  it  would  be  too  late  to  carry 
out  my  purpose.  80  I  decided  that  it  were  best  to 
■end  him  word  of  the  necessity  of  my  making  this 

other  at  the  same  time.  So  I  sat  me  down,  and  ^tuJ^ 
me  a  piece  of  parchment,  wrote  as  follows- 

"He  of  Gimigoe  who  helped  a  prisoner  to  escape 
«  m  g«Mit  extremity  to  get  to  the  Royal  Castle  at 
Stoibn^,  on  mmiediate  business  of  Kfe  and  death. 
Without  means,  or  knowledge  of  the  way  to  go  he 
jerdeth  this  .tone  back  to  him  who  gavl  it."^.!;: 
1  plwed  m  a  package  with  the  .tone,  and  bucklinir 

left  the  cartle.  and  went  in  search  of  the  square  stone 
on  the  .ummit  of  the  bare  hill.  This  from  his  descrip- 
tion wa.  half-way  up  a  small  strath  to  the  west  of  the 

'^'-  ^^'  """'^  *''"'^  ^  ^"""^^  *'»«  -tone,  which 
-tood  ma  depute  part  of  the  glen,  and  which  looked 
by  It.  riiape  and  peculiar  situation  to  have  been  placed 
there  by  human  m«m..  I  have  since  been  told  that 
»t  wa.  an  anci«it  altar  where  some  of  our  Norse  rr 


w^ 


If 


aj*  /^iV  OF  r»£  Oi?C^fl£s 

Celtic  .nc«rto»  ™rf  to  nuk.  th«r  ««ri««.  i„  thd, 
md.   hMthen   m«u,er.    Pl.d,^  a,        ^^   ;„ 

hoUow  he  hri  dumbed,  which  w„  .h„  „  .rtiici., 
Mvily  m«l,  for  «„,  p,„p^   ,  ^^^  ^^  ^^ 

hope  in  my  he«t  that  wything  would  come  of  the 
matto,  «>d  determined,  if  I  got  no  word,  to  go  openly 
t»  the  eonnt«.  .nd  beg  ,oe.n.  «,d  .  comp»ion  L 
gu.de  me  to  StirUng;  though  the  truth  wjTh.t  ,. 
™^  w«  our  g.rri«,n,  th.t  I  feU  th.t  it  would  be 

for  «.  m.port«,t  .  punx>«,.  A.  I  w„  „ot  .o  L^y^ 
«-fl.  ».d  b^  to  m.k.  what  p„p.r.tio„.  might 
wither  the  Ute  p^oncr  h«i  th.t  derkly  knowledge 
Itho^h    me  that  ,f  he  were  the  powerful  m^„  he 

hold  or  retainetriup  qmJiaed  for  that  office 

When  I  ,««,hed  my  chamber,  a  .urpri*  .wailed 
™  for  I  found  a  packet  neatly  done  upland  :;n^ 
.t  I  found  a  letter  and  another  packet  inrid.  Ch 
add«..«l  to  "Ma^er  Ian  of  the  Orcade.,CtoZ 
d.«gna^o„,  I  thought.    The  letter  wa.  ^JXTn 

tbfL  J"*'  """^  '"'"'•  "<»  P"'«l  «»  be  from 
the  Lady  Margaret  Soton.  I  could  not  help  but  pt^ 
rt  to  my  hp.,  and  weep  oyer  it,  man  a.  I  nj-  f„  ^ 
betwxt  my  d««i  reeolve,  which  had  work^J^T-^t 


1 
.■4 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  259 

a  sort  of  unnatural  state,  and  the  sight  of  her  writing 
with  the  message  she  sent,  the  first  I  had  ever  got  in 
this  world  from  anyone,  and  the  last,  as  I  knew  it 
would  be,  from  her,  who  alone  made  this  world 
bearable,  I  was  quite  unmanned  for  the  time.  Recover- 
ing myself  I  read  it,  and  it  ran  as  follows  :— 

"Master  Ian,  I  send  thee  this,  mine  all  which  I 
have  by  me.  Use  it  for  the  purpose  we  both  wot  of. 
My  palfrey  will  be  given  you,  with  proper  equipment, 
by  my  groom.    Quick  speed  !  and  God  go  with  you  !-' 

"  Maroarbt  Seton." 

With  it  was  another  note  couched  in  quite  another 
tone,  not  so  weU  writ,  but  full  of  scorn  for  me. 

"Sir,"   it   ran,   "the   Lady  Margaret   Seton   hath 
informed  me  (by  what  knowledge  I  know  not)  that 
It  IS  thy  wiU  to  leave  us  in  this  our  poor  plight,  iUy 
garrisoned  as  we  now  are.    It  is  ever  the  way  of  the 
coward,  as  thou  knoweat,  to  leave  when  the  danger 
la  near ;  but  I  wUl  not  keep  thee,  seeing  thou  wouldst 
be  of  little  use,  and  but  a  sore  in  mine  eyes,  as  thou 
hast  ever  been.      Shun  pride  and  treachery,  and  per- 
chance  Heaven  will  forgive  thee  thy  sins,  and  bring 
th^  to  that  proper  sem«  of  thy  base  origin,  which 
Isabella,  Countess  of  the  Cattynes,  can  never  do,  nor 
ever  come  unto  this  castle  again." 

There  was  no  signature,  but  it  needed  none.    The  poor 
countess,  she  Uttle  knew  that  Fate  was  stronger  than 


■m 


ate 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


P 


her  Bad  ilLwill.  or  of  how  I  was  to  come  back  finaUy 
•nd  of  aU  that  was  to  befaU  u«  in  the  meanwhile.  But 
her  old  pride  and  strong  hatred  of  me  was  her  main 
thought,  and,  poor  lady,  next  to  her  love  for  her  son 
for  which  alone  I  forgive  her  all  else,  her  chief  p««on 
was  her  pride  and  her  hatred  of  me.  And,  indeed  of 
aU  women  I  have  ever  known,  she  was.  by  far,  the 
strongest  and  most  enduring  in  her  hate 

I  opened  the  packet,  and  out  fell  a  curiously  worked 
bag  of  aehcate  steel  network,  filled  with  pieces  of  gold 
which  shone  in  the  sunlight,  like  gleaming  fish  new' 
caught  m  a  net;  and  after  it  fell  a  beautiful  richly 
wrought  goWen  chain,  set  with  rare  gems.  I  knew 
them  as  those  which  I  had  seen  he.  wear  on  .tate 
occasions,  and  that  she  valued  them  most  highly,  and 
for  aU  my  mastery  of  myself  to  be  true  to  Hugh  I 
could  not  but  sigh  at  this  evidence  of  her  love  for  Wm 

The  Udy  comitess's  letter  I  answered  in  the  foUowinir 
words,  ere  I  burnt  it —  ^ 

n,."!!''!'^'-?*'^  ^'  '''*'  '^'^  ^*  ^  ^*W»oW  from 
me  that  regard  wUch  thou  hast  given  even  to  the 

dogs  about  thee.    As  it  is  not  likely  that  we  will  ever 

meet  .,a.n   I  would  simply  say  that  for  all  thine  ill 

h!?  \!! """  ?'"'  '"''  *"*^  ^  ^  ''^^  *o  thee  •nd 
thme  as  becometh  an  honest  man  in  a  wicked  world." 

The  Lady  Margaret's  letter,  which  went  with  it. 
contente  in  a  packet  next  my  heart,  to  be  tr««ired 
for  ever,  all  my  Hfe  long,  I  answered  as  follows  .T^ 


-j^«.™~r  -  -t^TtSS^jSttSSSSSi 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  261 

"  My  Lady,— The  treasures  thou  hast  sent  me  will 
be  put  to  the  best  use  for  that  purpose  dearest  to  us 
both  in  this  world.  My  hope  is  to  leave  this  ere  thou 
gettest  this  message.  May  Heaven  bless  thee  is  the 
wish  and  hope  o.  Master  Ia»." 

It  would  be  hard  to  explain  in  our  slight  knowledge 
of  words  what  my  feelings  were,  whilst  writing  this 
short  note,  for  there  are  thoughts  that  do  come  to  us, 
which  are  often  but  too  sacred  to  find  utterance  for  in 
the  language  of  men ;  and  this  love  of  a  man  for  a  maid 
is  a  strange  and  dread  matter,  and  one  to  be  wor  ^red 
at  and  admired  more  than  all  other  passions  in  God's 
creation.    It  taketh  hold  of  one  with  such  a  cluteh 
at  the  heart  and  such  a  tyranny  and  mastery  of  the 
whole  being,  that  it  seemeth  to  hallow  all  life,  giving 
a  beauty  to  our  meanest  actions,  and  casting  a  glamour 
as  of  magic  over  all  that  she  is,  or  hath,  or  that  bringeth 
to  our  notice  or  remembrance  thoughts  of  her  person, 
her  voice,  or  her  face.    'Tis  a  sweet  madness,  and  the 
rarest  and  divinest  that  this  world  hath  ever  known 
or  ever  will  know,  and  hath  more  to  do  with  the  en- 
nobling of  a  good  man  than  all  the  "  thou  shalt  note," 
and  priestly  creeds  that  infest  this  world. 

Having  writ  these  letters,  which  I  spent  some  time 
over,  being  but  an  indifferent  scribe,  as  I  even  now  am, 
I  pi  ^ced  them  aside,  and  busied  myself  with  mine  uther 
preparations,  which,  having  r  -ed,  I  spent  the  rest 

of  my  time  that  night  anc  •„  .'    ..   Tung  waiting  with 


262 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


w 


doubtful  imp.ti.„«  uutU  th.  tin»  .houM  .rty.  when 

I  ^o^d  go  to  th.  .ton.  i„  th.  g.«.  ,„,  ^„  .::;:,'"° 

It  «.  .pp,„„h|ug  d«.k  on  th.  foUowing  .„„i^ 

*^«mg  »  f«,n,  th,  «..  „d  with  it  .  danger  th.t  I 
"  '  '"™«*  ■"•  •"»"«  *1»  'kor.,  ,h.„  th.  tid.  rt^k 

.^«Tk '    "*'  ""* " '""'' "  "*i  -"^ '»"« « 

r„  T    5r/"  •  "°™'  "'""  "■•  -I-ol.  world  w« 
~rf  „d  th.  I«p,ng  ^^  u»t  b„^^  .^         ^« 

m  If  d«p.    I  1,^^  „„   ^^  thinldnTci 

«»  «.,  or  th.  W.V,..  or  th.  roek^  or  th.  ^0^ 
but  of  n,^lf  „a  m,  cr..,  „d  th,  douSw 
"f  my  gettmg  „y  „„„  ,„  j^  ^^ 
Tlunhng  th«  n^ngM  «,  ^  Hill  up  tt 
Ion,ly  .taith,  „d  er.  I  „.ii«a  ^^  ^^  "^^  *« 
^  .to^.    Th.  n^t  ™  „„,  blj;^  in   g^; 

wob.   of  wuuJy   nun,   »,  „   to   T.i|    lik.   .   d,n« 

r.  .    i       \      •■"'  "^  '»"'' '"  '^'  Mow  to  find 
tt.  i»dk.g,,  bat  to  my  «toni.hm.„t  it  w«  ^ 

W'tk  .  h«i(„g  h«t  I  .to«i  th.r.,  und.dded  wh*  h.r 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


263 


to  go  back  or  wait  awhile  longer,  when  I  heard  a  muffled 
voice,  and  a  giant  form  seemed  to  loom  out  of  the  grey 
mist,  and  stood  before  me  ;  and  I  knew  him  at  once  for 
the  wild  Westemerwhom  I  had  met  at  my  mother's  grave. 

Not  noticing  my  astonishment,  he  said  quietly, 
"  What  wUt  thou  haf  with  Tonald  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  if  thou  art  the  man,"  I  cried.  "  I  placed  a 
token  in  yonder  stone,  and  it  is  gone.  Didst  thou  take  it?" 

He  quietly  took  it  from  his  sporan,  and  held  it  out 
without  a  word. 

"It  is  mine,"  I  cried,  taking  it  from  him.  Then 
he  spoke  in  his  strange,  impersonal  manner. 

"Herself  went  to  him,  and  he  saith  that  herself 
will  meet  thee  at  this  place  by  sunrise  the  morrow 
for  to  make  thy  journey  southward." 

"  Who  is  this  man  you  speak  of  ?  "  I  cried,  "  for 
I  would  know  more  of  him." 

"And who  ehie  would  he  be  but  the  fiar ? "  he  answered. 
"  But  it  is  not  for  herself  to  stay  long  in  a  strange  place. 
Wilt  thou  come  at  that  time  herself  hath  stated  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  here,"  I  cried.    "  You  may  expect  me." 

"And  herself  will  have  a  nag  for  thee.  For  it  is 
long  and  a  weary  way,  as  herself  knows,"  he  answered. 

"  I  will  meet  thee,  then,  at  sunrise,"'  I  said,  and  ere 
I  had  finished  the  words  he  had  melted  as  it  were  into 
the  fog,  as  a  mirage  or  shadow  may  disappear,  and  I 
wended  my  way  back  t-o  Gimigoe  in  a  new  condition  of 
doubt,  hope,  and  wonder  as  to  this  gathering  auize  of 
mystery  that  was  wrapped  about  my  life. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


P 


man  wfiom  the  countess  h»A  t«-j-         j 

w^l  renumed  be  ,„dd  «,  that  JtZ^       ' 
».'o  M  tLc  reck  rf  oimigo,  i,«|,     Si.  r        "'*•  " 

oould  pl.cc  tnut  by  mw«  „,  y,  j  ,    "'"•  ""^  ' 

no  feT  did  mine3,  „T      u  '^  "S*^  ' '«' 

be  Und«, » th,  Mi«  „.«  mo^Cft^X  W   *" 
P.lf-y.    Tte  w«  m«k  ^^„y  „^„.^^__  J^' 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  265 

thU  W  w«  one  to  which  Ae  w«  much  .ttiu,h«l, 
Z^  iT"*!?'"'.'^'"'^'*  *°  '*•"«  ^»»^d  to  her  this 
th?^^"^     ?*"«"•    ^•*°«d'°'*while.  after  leaving 
the  cMtle.  .dminng  if  bold.  mgg«i  outline,  of  waU  and 
k^P.  looming  there  amid  ito  wide  expanse  of  peaceful 
ocean,  mountain,  and  .horeland,  keeping  under  the 
monunghght.    For  I  knew  that  I  wa.'lng  my  1^ 
look  of  aU  thi.  ^ne  of  my  ««row  and  my  hope'-nd 
of  her  who  wa.  the  world  in  aU  to  me;  andVith  a 
pr.yer  m  my  heart  for  the  gentle  soul  who  dwelt  the« 

I  choked  a  nauHj  «)b  and  addre^ed  my«lf  to  my  journey . 
I  amved  m  good  time  at  the  .tone,  and  there  found 
the  nlent  and  caution.  Donald,  accompanied  by  the 
~NJ.  the  latter  of  which  I  .oon  mounted,  and  with 
Dondd  runmng  or  walking  by  my  «de.  or  a  littfc  in 
front^rfmg  to  the  nature  of  the  road  we  went 
piwwded  on  my  journey  to  the  far  wuthward.    He 
told  me  m  few  word,  that  we  were  to  travel  for  «me 
day.  through  the  country  of  the  Cattynes.  and  beyond 
the  mountain,  of  the  Sutherland  countiy.  where  we 
wew  to  meet  with  the  fiar.  who  him«jlf  wa.  to  proceed 
witn  me  on  my  journey. 

It  availeth  not  that  I  rf^ould  dewribe  thi.  long 
toihwme  journey  that  I  underwent.  A.  all  men  2 
W.  our  ca«tle  standeth  on  the  rugged  front  of  a 
^t  cape  that  lieth  cut  to  the  North  Sea.  which  cape 
.the  extreme  end  of  a  great  portion  of  Und  reaching 
fromthe  mam  body  of  that  country  which  maketh  Z 
northern  part  of  the  land  called  Scotland.    The  journey 


IT! 


266 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


for  the  first  few  days  lay  through  what  U  called  mine 
own  country,  that  of  the  Cattyne»-«  land  of  much 
bogs  and  wetlands,  with  hill  and  lake  dotted  through 
in  places,  and  here  and  there  a  strath,  where  men  may 
go  with  more  ease,  and  rest  them  near  some  great 
cliff  or  mountain  stream  at  nightfall.    But  withal  it  is 
mine  own  land,  it  has  much  of  a  flatnMs  and  tameness 
of  appearance,  and  lacketh  that  beauty  and  desolate 
grandeur  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  gi«at  country  of 
the  southland  beyond  us.    Crossing  this  country,  we 
came  on  the  third  even  to  the  neighbouring  land  of  the 
Sutherland  and  the  Maokay.    Here  we  got  into  a 
beautiful  inland  part  of  the  world,  where  the  glens  ran 
betwixt  high  mountains,  and  the  path  was  often  most 
difficult  to  find,  and  the  climber  would  almost  seem  to 
hang  from  the  rugged  precipice  we  had  to  cross.    Of 
this  our  journey  I  may  say  Uttle,  as  I  was  myself  but 
ill-minded  for  speech,  and  if  I  had  been  so  inclined  I 
would  have  found  Donald  to  be  the  most  silent  man 
of  his  kind  in  the  world.    He  could  walk  or  trot  for 
days  without  a  word,  save  a  question  as  to  whether  I 
were  weaiy,  or  whether  I  should  go  on ;  and  when  we 
had  found  a  fit  place  for  the  night,  would  wrap  him  in 
his  plaid  and  fall  asleep  in  a  grim  silence,  which  to 
some  would  have  seemed  ominous.    So  we  journeyed, 
I  and  this  silent  Westerner,  until  on  the  fourth  even 
we  arrived  at  the  side  of  a  small  mountain  lake  of 
most  beautiful  appearance,  and  surrounded  by  shores 
as  desolate  in  their  grandeur  as  though  unmolested  by 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  367 

the  hand  of  man  since  the  beginning  of  Ume.    Here  he 
■tayed  for  a  space,  then  giving  a  peculiar  calJ,  alter  a 
•hort  time  of  waiting  we  »iw  a  boat  coming  around  a 
bena  m  the  land,  and  moving  toward  us.    Leaving 
my  nag  to  be  fetched,  I  got  into  the  boat  with  Donald 
•nd  one  of  the  men,  who  looked  and  acted  with  the 
"«ne  Mvere.  lilent  manner  as  the  former;   and  in  a 
•hort  time  we  were  speeding  acroH  the  water  as  fast 
as  rtout  arms  could  propel  us.    Turning  a  point,  we 
landed  on  a  shelving  beach,  under  a  great  cliff ;   and 
there  I  perceived  a  soUtary  hut.    From  the  door  as 
we  advanced  issued  a  taU.  commanding  figure,  who 
for  aU  his  altered  appearance  and  martial  bearing    I 
knew  at  once  to  be  the  unfortmiate  prisoner  whom  I 
had  released  from  the  dungeon  of  Castle  Gimigoe 

"Thou  art  come  at  last !  »  he  cried.  And  he  grasped 
my  hand  with  a  warmth  and  kindliness  of  greeting  that 
showed  his  remembrance  of  my  deed.  But  I  noticed 
also  that  there  was  a  deeper  meaning  in  his  friendship 
for  me  than  waa  generaUy  shown  by  so  stem  and  sUent 
a  man,  for  there  was  a  wild  fierceness  and  pride  of  bearing 
about  him  that  would  have  made  most  men  fear  him 

He  led  me  to  the  hut,  where  a  meal  was  soon  suppHed 
ua.  rude  but  plentiful,  and  of  which,  after  my  long 
journey  and  course  of  simple  fare,  I  was  glad  to  partake 
When  the  meal  was  finished  there  was  an  awkward 
pause,  at  least  on  my  part,  for  I  felt  as  though  each  of 
ua  wanted  to  speak  on  matters  on  which  both  were 
doubtful  as  to  the  opinion  of  the  other.    As  I  could 


r! 


I. 


MICROCOPY  tfSOlUTION  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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1653  East   Main  Street 

Roctiester.   New   York        14609       USA 

(716)   482  -  0300-  Phone 

(716)  288-  5989  -  Fa« 


268 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


now  see,  he  was  of  no  common  rank,  but  my  service  to 
him  and  mine  own  need  of  aid  in  my  project  gave  me 
courage  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Thou  hast  come  at  last  into  thine  own  again,  fiar," 
I  said,  giving  him  the  title  he  probably  carried  as  lord 
or  chief  of  a  great  clan. 

"  Yea,"  he  answered ;  "  I  got  mine  ill  cousin  Roderick 
front  to  front  under  the  skies,  where  we  were  alone ;  my 
claymore  met  his,  and  he  now  sleeps  with  his  fathers." 
"  And  thy  wife  and  children  ?  "  I  questioned. 
"  My  Lady  M©ma,  she  is  dead,"  he  answered.  "  But 
my  son  Torquil  thou  wilt  see  for  thyself,  for  is  he  not 
thine  own  cousin  ?  " 

"  My  cousin  ?  "  I  cried  in  some  wonder.     "  Then 
thou  art  mine  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yea,  as  true  as  that  thou  art  that  Ian,  rightful 
Earl  of  the  Cattynes  and  of  the  Orcades,"  he  answered. 
"  Then  thou  knowest  that  ? "  I  cried.    For  aU  he 
had  told  me  startled  me  somewhat. 

"  'Tis  full  time,"  he  answered,  "  that  thou  shouldst 
know  what  I  can  teU  thee.  Hearken  then,  my  nephew, 
to  these  my  words !  I  am  the  MacLeod  of  that  ilk,' 
of  a  lineage  longer  than  man  can  remember,  great  in 
this  land  and  in  a  land  to  the  west.  I  had  but  one 
sister,  and  she  was  thy  mother.  She  was  a  maiden 
beautiful  and  weU  nurtured,  as  becometh  the  women 
of  our  ancient  line,  when  this  Ian,  thy  father,  bore  her 
off  from  my  castle  and  married  her.  Their  love  for 
each  other  wa?  a  true  and  fond  one,  but  this  earl  had 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  269 

an  m-gotten  brother,  a  priest,  as  thou  knowest.  who  by 
some  de^als  art  persuaded  thy  father  that,  seeing  my 
ho«^  had  shown  honour  to  these  present  kings  of  this 
and  by  marrying  on  a  daughter  of  that  Une.  and  that 
thy  fathers  house  had  done  hkewise.  therefore  thy 
father  and  my  sister  were  cousins,  and,  as  he  declared 
mthm  that  degree  of  blood  prohibited  by  Holy  Church 
wherem  kin  of  the  same  blood  should  marry     Now 
thiB  was  no  truth,  seeing  that  the  kinship  was  not  near  • 
but  this  same  priest-may  God  punish  him,  seeing  man' 
may  not-for  some  devil's  reason  of  his  own.  worked 
on  thy  father  the  earl's  fear  and  his  ambition  to  connect 
him  with  this  house  of  the  Douglas,  so  that  by  much 
scheming  and  plotting  he  procured  a  command  from 
the  Holy  Father,  setting  my  sister  aside,  and  for  which 
matter  she  would  never  in  her  shame  return  home, 
but  hved  and  died  in  a  lone  place,  far  away  from  the 
land  of  her  birth  and  her  kin ;  and  this  coming  to  mine 
^,  I  would  have  brought  the  earl  thy  father  to  a 
Bharp  account,  but  he  and  my  cousin,  that  same  who  is 
now  dead,  connived  so  cleverly  that  they  laid  me  by  the 
heels  m  that  dark,  ill  dungeon  where  thou  didst  find 
me ;   and  'twas  a  devil's  trick  for  a  man  to  play  his 
own  wife's  brother !"  he  continued. 
"  He  is  dead  now,"  I  cried. 

'*  Then  is  it  good  both  for  him  and  the  MacLeod  " 
he  returned  "And  thou,  my  nephew  then,  thou  ^ 
the  Earl  of  the  Cattynes,  and  thou  shalt  hav«  thy 
nghte  and  thine  earldom.    Thou  wilt  come  with  me  to 


I 


^ 


m 


i 


270 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


\u 


the  Court  at  Stirling,  and  we  wiU  see  what  can  be  done 
to  put  thee  in  thy  proper  place." 

"  But  I  have  a  brother,"  I  cried,  "  who  sitteth  in 
my  place  ;  but  he  is  now  in  prison  in  that  same  Stirling, 
for  treason,  sentenced  to  death." 

"  Then  is  it  the  better  for  thee,"  he  answered.  "  Thou 
wilt  come  into  thine  own..  Thou  art  of  my  blood  and 
my  sister's  son  ;  and  I  will  see  thee  righted !  " 

"Hearken,  mine  uncle,"  I  answered,  "for  such  I 
may  now  call  thee,  there  is  much  more  in  all  this  matter 
than  thou  knowest.  It  is  true  that  by  my  mother's 
memory  I  am,  as  thou  sayest,  the  true  Earl  of  the 
Orcades  and  the  Cattynes ;  but  mine  is  a  long  story, 
and  a  hard  one,  and  I  beg  thee  to  hearken  to  what  I  say ; 
for  I  tell  thee  frankly  that  this  can  never  be ;  nor  would 
I  dispossess  my  brother,  if  I  could,  but  I  cannot." 

"  By  the  souls  of   mine  ancestors ! "  he  cried 
wrath,  "  what  meanest  thou  ?  " 


in 


(( > 


Tis  even  as  I 


say,"  I  answered.     "  I  thank  thee 


for  thy  proffered  aid;  but  Earl  of  the  Cattynes  I  can 
never  be ! " 

"  Wilt  thou  let  this  other  son,  this  usurper,  ride  over 
thee  and  possess  thy  rights  ?  Thou  art  mad !  "  he  cried, 
and  he  rose  and  paced  up  and  down  in  some  agitation.| 

"  First,"  I  answered,  "  this  Pope's  annulment  doth 
stand  in  my  way.  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  I  have  no 
standing,"  I  cried. 

"  Thou  hast !  Thou  hast !  "  he  returned  fiercely. 
"  And  by  my  sister's  honour,  with  this  same  blade  will 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  271 

I  write  thee  a  patent,  which  not  even  the  royal  Robert 
himself  shall  dare  impugn  !  " 

"  Yea,"  I  cried,  "  thou  wouldst  give  me  my  place  by 
force.    Bu*  how  long  could  I  keep  it  ?    But  there  ia 
somewhat  more,  mine  uncle,  and  as  thou  lovest  me 
hearken  to  what  I  would  tell  thee."    And  I  related  in 
short  what  I  have  here  set  down  of  my  wiU  in  the 
matter  toward  my  brother,  saving  alone  mine  own  secret 
scheme  to  save  him ;  for  I  feared  to  reveal  it,  lest  he 
by  force  or  stratagem,  might  prevent  my  carrying  it  out' 
^^  "My  nephew."  he  cried,   when  I  had  concluded, 
this  lieth  not  in  mind  of  man.    Thou  art  a  madman  • 
This  hath  not  been  hitherto  known  in  our  family  that 
one  man  should  shut  himself  off  for  another,  as' thou 
wouldst  do.    Art  thou  truly  willed  to  cany  this  out «  " 
"  Yea,  I  am,"  I  cried. 

"Then,"  he  answered,  "in  thy  mother's  name  I 
say  to  thee,  thou  fool,  that  I  forbid  thee,  and  will  oppose 
this  for  thine  own  good  to  the  bitter  end  !  " 

"I  defy  thee!"  I  cried  in  some  indignation  and 
anger.  "Is  it  thus  thou  wouldst  requite  mine  aid 
who  got  thee  out  of  Girnigoe  ?  Hast  thou  no  bowels 
of  compassion  ?  When  I  saved  thee,  did  I  know  who 
thou  wert  ?  Nay,  save  that  thou  wert  in  ill  case  and 
pnsoned  wrongfully.  And  wilt  thou,  then,  see  this 
young  man,  my  father's  son,  who  is  trapped,  as  thou 
wert,  to  his  death,  who  is  innocent  of  all  sin  against 
me.  wilt  thou  see  him  in  similar  case  to  thine,  and  not 
have  me  aid  him  ?    Wouldst  thou  have  me  a  man 


)  ■ 


'J 


/< 


272 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


1  '  > 


i 


forsworn  in  his  honour  as  a  traitor  to  the  blood  and  the 
house  that  gave  him  shelter  ?  If  thou  wouldst,  then 
thou  knowest  me  not ! "  And  I  took  his  stone  that 
he  had  given  me,  and  hurled  it  from  me.  "  Take  back 
thy  pledge,  thou  forsworn  man,  MacLeod  or  no!" 
I  cried. 

I  think  he  thought  me  mad,  or  beyond  his  ken.  He 
looked  at  me  a  moment  as  I  stood  glaring  at  him. 
Then  he  said  quietly,  picking  up  the  stone— 

"  There  is  more  in  all  this  than  thou  hast  told  me ; 
but  be  thou  minded  to  this  I  will  see  thee  through. 
Thou  art  a  MacLeod  in  this  matter,  that  thy  will  may 
not  be  changed  even  for  a  folly.  I  will  see  thee  through ; 
but  it  misdoubts  me  that  thou  art  a  fool." 

"  Then  thou  wilt  go  with  me  to  Stirling  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  My  word  is  given  !  "  he  answered.  "  But  what 
wouldst  thou  do  there  ?  " 

"  I  would  get  entrance  and  speech  with  my  brother 
in  his  prison,"  I  answered,  "  and  carry  him  message  of 
comfort." 

"'Tis  a  hard  matter  to  manage;  but  it  shall  be 
done." 

"  Then  we  must  go  soon,"  I  cried ;  "  for  the  time  is 
but  short." 

"  What  meanest  thou  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  is  doomed  within  the  month,"  T  answered. 

"  Then,  young  man,"  said  the  MacLeod,  "  thou  bast 
set  to  thee  a  desperate  work,  for  thou  wilt  have  short 
time  to  save  him  if  thou  canst,  which  thou  canst  not." 


•  •    •> 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"Ood  send  that  I  get  there  in  time  -  "  I  .„8,ered 
or  I  .„  .  i„t  u.„."  „d  I  thought  me  olZ^^ 
Margaret  and  my  rash  promiM.  «  « '"e  Wy 

bustle  good  wUt  thou  bring  to  thi,  »„.»  bLlTe 

of  ^Catt  "^  ""  *'  ''°"'  °»<'  ">»"  ■»  Earl 

'T..       even,  for  we  have  a  long  road  and  a  rou.1, 
and  thou  wilt  be  late  as  it  is."  *'"' 

It  needeth  not  that  I  should  relate  the  lorn,  weari 
acme  journey  we  made  by  land  and  water,  1  tlat  I 
Aould  describe  the  rare  and  grand  county    hit  we 

ZTes  and""'       T^'  '  ""'  '°  '^-"'^"'=  -'" 
castles  and  gnm  holds  that  caught  our  eves   or  th. 

b^aufful  vales  and  lonely  moun^ns,  the^l  1^^ 

and  lochs  that  we  skirted  or  crossed.    My  mind  ZZ 

taken  up  by  the  fear  that  I  should  arrive  too  C  o^ 

that  my  nnssjon  might  be  of  no  .vail  when  I  got  th  re 

that  Icould  think  of  naught  else,  and  the  whole  joley 

as  but  a  v^e  dream  of  l«,h  and  mountain,  such  as 
one  might  fancy  in  a  morning  sleep ;  and  it  ^Twitt 
a  gl^  rehef  that  I  first  set  eyes  on  the'  lofty  bltrm"* 
of  he  great  keep  of  Stirling,  which  rose  above  ito 
^sfled  crags  of  olden  fame  of  the  mighty  Bruce  with 

There  was  some  sort  of  f«te  afoot  in  the  old  town  aa 
we  entered  .ts  gates,  I  on  horseback  and  mine  »!„" 


274 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


,« 1 


K 


foot,  because  for  his  own  schemes  he  was  dressed  in 
disguise,  representing  the  character  of  one  of  his  own 
gillies  or  henchmen,  which  but  ill  hid  his  stern  look 
of  power  and  presence  of  lordly  command.    All  this 
bustle  of  life,  and  sight  of  many  houses,  with  busy  and 
crowded  streets,  would,  at  any  other  time,  have  attracted 
me,  as  a  new  and  uncommon  experience ;   but  at  this 
time  I  could  only  think  of  this  place  as  the  prison  of  my 
sad-fated  brother,  and  the  people  as  those  who  were 
his  keepers  and  destroyers;    so  I  kept  my  face  set 
before  me,  and  looked  on  the  distant  bastioned  keep 
on  the  hillside,  and  wondered  in  what  part  and  in  what 
grim  cell  they  had  him  confined,  and  in  what  manner 
he  would  receive  me  and  my  determination  to  free  him. 
We  went  by  side-streets  to  a  quiet  inn,  which  mine 
uncle  did  wot  of,  where  he  had  a  friend  in  the  inn-keeper, 
who  was  kindly  for  many  reasons  to  men  of  the  High- 
lands, and  especially  toward  his  house  and  clan.    Here 
we  put  up  for  the  night,  and  mine  host,  a  slow  but 
thoughtful  and  silent  man,  gave  me  a  quiet  room  and 
a  good  bed,  for  which  I  was  glad,  and  to  which  I  retired 
early ;    for  I  was  worn  with  my  journey,  and  I  had 
much  to  think  of  and  to  accomplish  on  the  morrow. 
Bidding  me  to  get  what  rest  I  could,  mine  uncle  went 
out  to  set  his  plans  in  action  for  the  geting  of  me  into 
presence  with  my  brother,  the  Earl  of  the  Cattynes, 
who,  it  was  well  known  in  the  town,  was,  for  high 
treason  against  his  liege  lord  and  king,  under  watch  and 
ward  in  the  great  castle  above. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

0" 'h%T  ""u   ™"'  ""*  ■='""'  ">  ■»)'  "om, 
«.v»  for  .  henchman  of  the  young  earl  to  «e  him  .lone 
I       P"»on.    Thi,  w„  granted  by  the  gove^'r  o 
tte  c«tle ;  and  he  added  that  the  Duke  „f  Z^l 
™  «!«'«*  kourfy.  and  that  on  hi,  .r^liTZ 
.«nn..ed  that  the  young  earl  would  beTZt^d    " 
™mou»  of  hi.  defiance  and  rank  tre.«>n  W  been 
bought  of  late  from  the  earl>.  country,  and  til  was 
no  hope  of  .u     ^p^eve  being  granted.    Of  ZZ 
I  knew  that  thi.  latter  wa,  the  iU-work  of  mine  S 
the  p„e.t ;  but  the  new,  only  .teeled  me  all  tht  ZL 
to  undergo  the  f.,»  I  had  marked  out  for  my Ik     Z 
great  trouble,  however,  was  how  to  get  hi^^ff  .h^^ 
mdependent  of  the  caatle  ;  for  I  could  not  ^Ittn^t^ 
and  ■    wa,  .mpo„ible  to  let  mine  uncle  the  MacS 
nto  the  «cret  of  my  plans,  which  he  would  W' 

^y  huntmg  about  the  old  town  for  «>me  m»n.^f 

t^r.T  "'  '""^"'  ""'^  "^^  »»™  «rh  a„d 
^™«bl.  I  d^covered  at  la,t  another  inn,  remoU  f^m 
where  we  were  quartered,  hapjily  kept  by  a  man  S 


276 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


h'^ 


r 


sr 


the  Cattynes,  who  was  not  above  the  love  of  gold  pieces, 
as  all  of  his  guild  are  not ;  and  who,  much  as  he  would 
do  for  gold,  I  found  out  was  also  willing  to  do  much  for 
a  man  of  his  own  country.    I  soon  arranged  with  him 
for  a  guide,  and  a  sturdy  nag  to  ride  that  night  to  the 
north,  for  a  brother  of  mine,  I  told  him,  who  would 
arrive  after  dark  from  the  south,  and  was  in  haste  to 
press   his  journey   northward.    He   warned   me   that 
the  travelling  was  risky  in  that  direction ;  but  I  an- 
swered that  a  Cattynes  man  cared  not  for  danger,  as 
he  knew ;  and  that  the  service  was  for  a  friend.    So, 
in  short,  seeing  my  gold,  he  declared  with  many  oaths 
that  a  Cattynes  man  had  a  right  to  help  his  friends,  to 
which  I  agreed.    Thus,  having  made  this  assignation, 
and  getting  its  proper  direction  for  my  brother,  I  hired 
a  small  cateran  for  a  fee,  who  showed  me  the  road  to 
and  from  the  castle  gates.    This  I  had  done  during 
the  daytime,  hoping  to  get  all  in  train  for  my  purpose 
that  night,  and  doing  it  all  in  a  matter-of-fact  way, 
as  if  I  were  not  all  this  time  preparing  for  mine  own 
execution.     All    this,   of    course,   I    managed    under 
pretence  to  mine  \mcle  of  being  out    studying  the 
town,  while  he  had  been  absent  getting  my  warrant  of 
admission  to  the  castle  prison. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "my  mad  nephew,  is  thy  right 
of  admission,  signed  by  the  governor,  and  as  thou  art 
to  go  in  the  character  of  a  henchman,  I  have  procured 
for  thee  the  proper  dress."  I  took  the  warrant  from 
his  hands  with  the  feelings  of  one  who  knows  that  it 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  277 

i.  the  writ  of  his  own  death  ;  but  the  road  was  trodden 
now,  and  I  could  not.  nor  would,  go  back.    Aa  my  uncle 
had  said   I  was  ^^.    It  took  me  not  long  to  ^t  into 
the  clothes  he  had  provided,  and  buckling  on  my  great 
word.  I  hd  mine  uncle  good  even,  and  issued  f!^h. 
I  felt  It  but  an  lU-retum  for  aU  his  kindness,  to  leave 
him  thus  when  it  was  excedingly  doubtful  that  I  should 
ever  see  lum  again;  but  this  matter  I  had  undertaken 

thT/J'"  ""^  ""^P^^^  °'  ^««"°«-    I  thought  of 
the  Lady  Margaret  and  my  poor  brother,  and  I  went 

1;.:^2/ZT' '''' '^' --"^  ^' ^- ^^^^ 

It  was  a  dark  night,  and  I  had  some  trouble  to  find 

Zl  t^  '""*"'  T  "'°  "^^  *^  ''^  -«  ^  the 
but  httle  to  lum.  but  wrapped  myself  as  closely  as  I 
could  m  my  cloak,  and  followed  him  up  the  great  hill 
which  led  to  the  many-bastioned  citedel.  ^en   I 

aTl  '*/'  ^°^*  °^  '^'  ^^*''^^-'  I  hade  my  lad 
Z?  °'';^''^'."  I  ^o'Jd  in  aU  probability  be  some 
time ;  and  gethng  ready  my  warrant.  I  approached 
the  entrance.  The  warden  was  at  first  unvdlling  to 
give  me  entrance  on  any  terms ;  but  seeing  my  paper 
hifl  manner  changed.  ^  ^^  ' 

h/'Ji'  ^u^'^  *°  ''*  ^*°"  ^^  *t  this  time  o'  night." 
h^  said,     but  this  is  a  special  warrant,  and  thou  a^ 
^  squire,  art  thou  not  ? »  he  said    h„f  ^if  k 
surliness     "  An^  ^u    T  '      *  ^th  some 

urnness.       And  thou  hast  come  all  the  way  from 


!  t.' 


ft 


278  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

hii  country  to  see  him  swing,  as  he  will,  from  yon 
beam  to-morrow." 

"  How  now  ?"  I  cried  in  horror.  "So  soon!  What 
mean  you  ? "  and  I  could  not  help  it.  but  a  sense  of 
dread  overcame  me. 

"  Yea,  my  master,"  the  man  answered,  "  the  great 
Albany  hath  been  here  these  two  hours;  and  word 
hath  gone  forth  of  thy  lord's  execution  on  the  morrow's 
mom ! " 

A  cold  chUl  went  all  through  me.  I  had  screwed 
up  my  courage  to  expect  something  like  this;  but 
the  brutal  and  sudden  manner  of  his  telling  it  made 
me  quaU  for  the  first  time  since  the  undertaking  of 
my  adventure.  But  I  remembered  her,  who  was  even 
now  praying  for  me  and  expecting  me  to  be  brave ; 
and  I  stayed  my  courage  and  puUed  myself  together' 
and  followed  him  within  those  grim,  forbidding  gates, 
which  I  felt  I  would  never  more  go  out  of,  save  to  my 
death.  Then  a  quick  thought  came  to  me,  and  I  said 
to  my  guide,  "  Doth  the  young  lord  know  that  his  end 
t'ometh  so  soon  ?  " 

"Nay!  Nor  why  should  he?"  he  answered  with 
a  grim  smile.  "  He  wiU  know  soon  enough  the  morrow's 
mom." 

Summoning  a  grim  old  keeper  from  somewhere 
withm,  and  who  came  shambling  up,  he  gave  me  into 
his  charge.  This  old  seneschal  was  a  hardened-looking 
ruffian  enough,  as  though  the  long  care  of  prisoned 
men,  and  the  guarding  of  them  in  those  grim  cells, 


P 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  270 

•nd  the  leading  of  them  to  death,  had  seared  his  soul 
Md  face  into  a  stupid  brutality.    Talcing  from  a  great 
iron  hook,  in  the  cell  he  occupied,  a  bunch  of  ponderous 
keys,  he  Ughted  a  torch  and  led  me  through  long,  dread, 
gloomy  stone   passages,  where  now  and  again  I  saw 
doors,  as  I  passed,  of  massive  oak  and  rusted  iron 
which  led.  no  doubt,  to  cells  like  that  one  where  hj 
WM  now  taking  me.    As  we  passed  I  also  saw.  as  in  a 
half.dream  m  the  flare  of  the  torch,  strange  engines 
of  torture,  rusted  swords  and  blocks  for  execution ; 
aU  of  which  gave  me  a  strange  horror  of  the  place' 
But  I  had  not  long  to  dwell  on  these  matters,  for  we 
soon  came  to  a  low.  heavy-built  arch  of  grey  stone, 
under  which  ^as  a  ponderous  wooden  door,  fastened  in 
a  formidable  manner  with  bar  and  bolt  and  chain. 
Pulling  the  bolt,  and  unloosing  the  chain,  and  swing- 
ing  with  a  slow,  grim  motion  the  door  backward,  he 
bade  me  enter.    Then  telUng  me  to  rap  twice,  and  he 
would  release  me.  he  slammed  the  door  on  me  in  a 
surly  manner,  and  I  found  me  in  the  room  alone. 

There  was  something  in  aU  this  grim  place  that 
gave  me  a  nameless  horror,  as  of  cruelty  and  misery, 
and  lack  l  liberty,  and  of  death  in  its  most  slow  or 
hideous  forms ;  all  of  which  had  power  to  unnerve  me. 
and  for  the  moment  when  that  brutal  keeper  slammed 
to  that  terrible  door  there  came  to  me  a  feeling  of  great 
longing  for  open  sky  and  air.  and  sweet  earth,  and  a 
despair  of  ever  seeing  them  any  more.  Such  a  hope- 
lessness  doth  come  over  all  prisoners  at  a  moment  Uke 


28o 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


fr'i 


vv 


this;  but  remembering  my  duty  I  stepped  forth  into 
the  room.    There  was  a  dim  wick  of  some  sort  burning 
m  an  iron  lamp,  which  gave  a  flickering  light  throughout 
"ie  apartment;  which,  I  afterward  learned,  was  one 
reserved  for  prisoners  of  State.    It  was  a  room  of  lofty 
roof,  where  the  day  came  dimly  through  gratings  not 
to  b.  reached  save  by  the  eye.    The  walls  were  gloomy 
and  bare,  and  a  few  articles  of  ancient  oak  furniture 
were  ranged  about  as  if  adding  a  grim  resemblance 
to  comfort  and  habitation  to  so  gruesome  and  dread 
an  apartment.   ,There  was  at  one  side  a  narrow  couch, 
and  in  the  centre  stood  a  massive  oaken  table,  while' 
by  it  a  rude  chair ;  and  there  near  it  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  I  stood  face  to  face  with  my  brother 
Hugh. 

"Who  art  thou?"  he  cried  in  stem  tones.    But 
I  noticed  that  underneath  his  sternness  there  was  a 
flense  of  foreboding  he  was  iUy  trying  to  hide ;  for 
prisoners  in  places  such  as  that  could  not  teU  the'  day 
or  the  hour  when  they  might  go  forth  to  their  death 
nor  could  they  know  but  that  any  messenger  was  either 
an  attendant  to  execution  or  an  assassin  come  to  do 
his  grim  work  in  their  cell.    "  Who  art  thou  ?  "  he 
repeated.    But  I  was  so  astonished  at  his  changed 
appearance  that  for  the  moment  I  could  not  find  words 
For  he  was  worn  and  white,  and  the  high  courage  aU 
gone  out  of  him,  save  that  innate  nobleness  he  could  not 
lose ;  and  I  further  noticed  that  he  had  a  look  and 
carriage  as  of  one  in  pain. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


281 


I  cried,  "  dost  thou  not  know  me, 


"  My  lord  earl,' 
thy  brother  Ian  ?  " 

"Nay!"  he  cried.  "Thou!  Thou  here  ? "  And 
he  sat  down,  for  the  surprise  seemed  to  overcome 
him  in  his  altered  state.  "  And  what  for  ?  »  he  con- 
tinued.   "  And  how  are  they  ?    And  how  is  she  ?  " 

"  'Tis  she  that  hath  sent  me,"  I  answered ;  "  and 
she  is  well." 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  he  said,  recovering  some- 
what of  his  former  spirit.  "God  bless  her!  And 
my  poor  mother,  what  of  her  ?  " 

"  WeU  as  she  can  be,  and  thou  here,  for  she,  like 
the  other,  is  breaking  her  heart  for  thee  in  thy  danger." 

"  I  know  it !    I  know  it !  "  he  cried.    "  Yet  they 
may  grieve  in  vain !    These  devils,  mine  uncle  and 
Albany,  have  cooped  me  up  here  to  my  death.    Were 
I  but  out  for  one  month  I  might  get  interest  with  my 
mother's  folk.    But  here  I  am  poweriess,  and  I  know 
weU.  though  I  hear  naught,  that  they  mean  my  death." 
Now  here  was  my  chance  to  work  my  plan ;  for  I 
was  but  waiting  for  some  excuse  to  introduce  it  to  him 
but  I  said.  "Thou  lookest  ill,  my  brother;  art  thoii 
not  wounded  ?  " 

"  'Tis  but  a  scratch,"  he  said,  "  in  my  side ;  but  it 
hath  not  healed  properly.  In  this  devil's  place  naught 
will  heal.  'Tis  a  cursed  cell,  which  adds  its  horror  to 
the  horror  of  death,  which  it  anticipates  by  its  grimness." 

"  Hath  none  visited  thee  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yea,  my  brother!"  he  said.    "I  had  one  visit 


282  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

over  my  condition     Q^  t  o»"y  to  gloat 

here  ?  "  ^     ^  "°  ^*^  my  coming 

■pint  that  thi.  Bobi.  y„u,«^Jr ' '" '*  '^"i  ""y 

and  liberty  if  tto„  ooX  h^  »?CT  r*""" 

■"oath.    Tien  know  you  ZlTl  ""  °'"' 

give  the,  th.toneol^n«"»  ^™  ""^  "«"  ^ 

'■Dread  He.ven!  play  „ot  with  me !  ••   he   cri«J 

Thou  I  thoB  meanest  thi.?"  '^• 

"  Doubt  me  not !  "  I  cried     "  l„j  r  »  ,.  ., 

'tiB  She  hath  sent  me.    'T^for  hert  h  *''''  ^^^^ 

my  brother,  she  diethforljetthr^^     ''"«^' 
thy  mother  •  ^A  il  ^"^  *^'*"^' ««  ^oth 

"7  place,  that  thou  mightest  go  back  to  fh««,       a 
wreck  these  plotters."  **"*"''  *°** 

"  Can  this  be  ?  "  he  crii»fi     «  Tk^     t     .    , 

my  Place  »    »t;-        a  ^°"'  ^^'^ '  <^^o»  ^ke 

^7  place!     Tis  madness!    'Tis  madness » »  ur.A  i. 
rose  up  and  nacfld  tJ.«  «»ii  •  '"»aness  !      and  he 

p  ana  paced  the  ceU  m  great  agitation. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


283 


"Not  such  madness  as  you  think,"  I  answered. 
"We  are  much  of  a  size  and  likeness  enough  to  deceive 
these  jailers.  I  have  all  ready  for  the  scheme.  Thou 
canst  by  morrow  mom  be  well  out  of  their  clutches." 

"  Yea,"  he  said,  facing  me,  with  a  strange  eagerness 
and  wonder  on  his  face  ;  "  yea,  I  would  be  well !  But 
thou,  Ian,  what  of  thee  ?  "  he  cried. 

Then  I  Ued.  "  Hugh,"  I  cried,  "  in  one  month  the 
great  Albany  cometh  here,"  and  as  I  said  this  I  could 
not  help  but  dwell  on  the  homd  system  that  kept  a 
prisoner  such  as  he  was  in  ignorance  of  the  great  worid 
about  him. 

"  Yea,"  he  answered,  "  and  that  meaneth  my  death ! " 

"Then,"  I  cried,  "thou  hast  that  one  month,  in 
which  much  can  be  done.  My  plan  is  this :  'tis  a 
simple  and  safe  one.  I  will  stay  here  and  take  your 
place,  and  thou  canst  go  forth  a  free  man,  and  get 
thee  to  thy  castle,  or  to  the  house  of  thy  mother's 
folk;  make  good  your  cause  with  the  King,  and  re- 
trieve your  position ;  and  if  you  are  not  able  to  do 
so,  you  can  but  come  back  here  and  give  yourself  up 
in  my  stead." 

He  looked  at  me  in  a  strange  way.  Then  he  said, 
"  And  thou  hast  planned  all  this  ?  Thou  ?  I  cannot 
believe  that  thou  couldst  be  so  noble." 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  "  my  brother,  it  is  for  her  sake 
that  I  have  done  this,  as  thou  also  must  do  thy  part 
in  this  for  her  sake." 

"Ian,"  he  cried,  "thou  art  better  than  Ii    uod 


I 


a84  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

bless  thee  for  this;  and  yet  thy  plan  is  a  good  and 
theT  T  '^  ^"^^  "^"*^'  ''^^^^^'  I  ^  have 
My  mother  and  I  can  do  it !    When  I  am  mastern; 

"  B„t  T'""."'"*"  """  ""^  '"""•  ■»>■  '»»tl'" ."  I  cried 
to  cr^  fc,  plan  wUoh  we  w  before  ,«.>•    ^Tn 

tto»  „,  faedom  «d  hope,  .„a  I  to  put  on,  «  I  weU 
faiew,  those  of  despair  and  deatk     r        .  , 

":  tTCr  »\- ^-"" '-^ix 

mm.  as  I  had  done;  to  haU  and  foUow  the  riJlie  to 

or  else  to  take  thy  place."  ""Z  release, 

I  dif  "if  ■"/  '°"'"^'  "  *^^  •""  -"y  '»"•    Tell  W 

great  sword,  and  I  shoved  him  out. 

"Go  !  »  I  whispered,  " or  aU  is  lost  at  the  last  •  " 

bebeve  he  weakened,  and  would  have  refund  to  go  • 

but  It  was  too  late     TIia  ««-~   •  -i  *   ' 

led  him  out    and  fi;.  ^"^  J^^'  '^PPeared  and 

mm  out,  and  the  ominous  door  clanged    and  T 

w«  shut  ont  from  the  world  of  .en  untTl' !„,] 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


285 


go  out  next  morning  to  mj  grim  fate,  and  a  grim  one 
it  was  indeed,  as  if  in  mockery  of  my  hopes  and  rights, 
to  die,  at  least,  where  I  might  not  live,  as  the  most 
potent  the  Earl  of  the  Orcades  and  the  Cattynes. 

When  the  door  had  closed  with  that  harsh,  ominous 
sound,  and  I  was  alone  by  myself  in  this  living  tomb, 
which  seemed  to  me  to  be  but,  as  it  were,  the  ante- 
room to  that  real  one  to  which  all  must  come  sooner 
or  later,  a  cold  shudder  came  over  me  at  realisation 
of  what  I  had  done  to  myself.  Then  I  cried  that  I 
were  a  coward  to  think  such  dastard  thoughts  when 
I  knew  that  she,  weak,  tender,  deUcate-nurtured  girl 
that  she  was,  would  have  gone  willingly  to  a  worse 
doom  for  his  sake  ;  and  could  not  I,  a  man,  do  at  least 
as  much  and  die  for  them  both  ?  Then  followed  a 
more  dreadful  thought,  a  fear  that  he  might  bungle 
his  part  and  spoil  my  scheme,  and  but  add  my  death 
to  his  own.  As  to  my  uncle  the  MacLeod,  I  knew 
it  would  be  as  the  event  proved,  he  would  wonder  at 
my  not  returning,  and,  suspecting  some  danger,  would 
come  to  the  castle  and  hear  of  my  exit.  Theii  he 
would  lose  sight  of  me,  never  dreaming  the  real  con- 
dition of  affairs.  So  it  happened.  But  I  had  mine 
own  part  to  play,  and  a  dread  one  it  was.  So,  with 
a  grim  resolve,  I  commended  my  soul  to  Heaven,  and 
with  sleepless  eyes  addressed  me  to  the  gloom  of  my 
long  night's  vigil  to  await  that  dawn  which  should 
usher  my  soul  to  heaven. 


f 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

w«  to  «ier  me  forth  toTSw,  deat?  '     *""" 

then  but  a  me«  youth,  waree,  „J,„  ™„e  fl,"" 

Dlace   anri  fi,«  J      j  ^    ^  *^®  ^°""or  o^  that 

place,  and  the  dread  fate  which  awaitPf^  mo     t 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


287 


sad  fate,  that  she  at  least  would  know,  and  would 
understand ;  and  this  were  worth  all.  It  was  this  one 
thought,  dwelling  on  which  over  and  over  kept  me 
sane  and  in  my  right  mind,  and  strong  and  bold  to 
meet  bravely  what  I  had  to  undergo  with  a  firm  heart, 
praying  God  that  it  should  soon  be  over. 

I  know  not  how  long  it  was  that  I  sat  thus  awaiting 
the  end.  It  was  hours  afterward,  but  it  seemed  years 
of  waiting,  that  the  cruel  white  dawn  came  peering 
in  ghastly  lines  of  light,  down  through  that  grim  window, 
and  smote  me  with  the  thought  that  my  time  on  earth 
was  drawing  rapidly  to  an  end.  I  had  once  heard  of 
the  famous  mound  of  earth  that  stood  somewhere 
outside  of  this  dread  castle  of  ancient  kings  and  mighty 
loids,  where  men,  doomed  like  myself,  had  gone  forth 
to  meet  their  death.  And  I  knew  that  it  would  be 
there  that  I  would  look  for  the  last  time  on  the  pitiless 
heaven,  and  the  eyes  of  cruel  men,  ere  I  passed  from 
memory  of  the  living. 

I  am,  as  is  natural,  a  lover  of  our  old  homes  of 
Scotland's  nobility,  and  I  am  proud  of  this  ancient 
hold,  Gimigoe  of  the  Cattynes,  because  of  the  glory 
of  the  names  and  deeds  of  mine  ancestors  that  hangeth 
about  and  broodeth  over  its  stateliness  of  bastion  and 
waU.  Though  there  hath,  on  the  other  hand,  been 
much  that  was  hideous  and  cruel  attached  to  its 
memory— deeds  which,  because  of  their  evil,  had  better 
be  forgotten  than  remembered  of  men;  yet  even  for 
aU  this,— I  have  a  pride  in  its  walls,  its  towers,  and  the 


t 
# 


288  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

name  and  line  which  its  splendour  represents.  But 
there  is  one  keep  in  aU  Scotland  which  I  want  never 
to  cast  eyes  on  again,  and  that  is  the  most  renowned 
of  aU  amid  the  most  stately  holds  and  ancient  towers, 
namely,  the  great  castle  and  royal  hold,  Stirling 

The  morning  light  grew  whiter  and  whiter,  untU  I 
could  in  some  sort  of  manner  again  make  out  the 
gloomy  appearance  and  hideous  loneliness  of  my  sombre 
prison,  for  the  wick  in  the  lamp  had  long  since  sputtered 
out.  leaving  me  in  that  darkness  commensurate  with 
the  sad  gloom  >of  my  thoughts  and  feelings.    I  sat 
there  m  that  chair  in  a  condition  of  half-stupor  caused 
by  much  fatigue  from  want  of  sleep  and  the  great 
strain  of  mmd  consequent  on  my  position,  in  which 
the  events  of  the  past  and  the  dread  of  the  future 
nungled  themselves  in  a  sort  o.  confused  dream,  which 
was  neither  of  sleep  nor  of  waking;  when  at  last  I 
heard  the  sound  of  the  withdrawing  of  bolts,  and  the 
clinking  of  chains,  and  my  door  swung  out  on  its  grim 
hinges.    Then  I  awoke  with  a  start  as  one  from  a 
half-dream  of  the  morning,  and  gathered  myself  to- 
gether with  some  firmness  to  meet  my  fate,  and  play 
the  part,  as  a  man  should,  which  I  had  assumed.    I 
sometimes  since   have   thought  that  it  might   have 
mattered  little  had  they  known  the  truth  of  the  trick 
I  was  playing  on  them,  seeing  that  by  that  time  my 
brother  was  well  out  of  their  clutches.    But  at  the 
time  I  could  not  think  clearly  on  any  matter,  and 
had  much  trouble  to  keep  my  mind  on  the  main  work 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  289 

which  WM  befow  me,  and  to  play  in  simulation,  what 
I  wally  was  m  truth,  the  imprisoned  Earl  of  the  Cattynes 

Llrili  "'  *"'V°  '°°'  '^^^^  *"^  unconceLi; 

wTthl,  f  1^  '"^^'^  '*  ^'^  "^^  '^"^  J^^^P*'  come 
with  his  feUows  to  lead  me  forth  to  execution 

h  J^?  ""T.  ^^""^  "'^''  '"*°'^^'  ^^'^  '^'^^'^  'I^e  mist 
had  cleared  from  mine  eyes  I  saw  them  stand  before 

2),       '..T/^'  '^""^^^^  °^^  '^^^P*''  °^y  guide 
of  the  night  before ;  the  second  was  a  companion  b^te 

las  fellow-hound  in  cruelty  and  besottishness.     The 

third  man  needs  more  detaUed  description,  for  he  was 

the  officer  sent  by  the  governor  to  lead  me  forth  to 

whatever  fate  they  had  in  store  for  me.    He  was  a 

short,  stout  man.  of  powerful  frame,  cased  for  the  most 

part  in  mad  and  had  a  hard  indifference  toward  the 

work  in  hand  that  smote  on  me  and  told  me,  even  before 

he  spake  that  the  message  he  bore  was  one  of  death. 

of  fK  n  .;        '"^'  "  *"*  ^^^'^  *^«  *™«  ^^'l  ri«h«ul  Earl 
of  the  Cattynes.  the  body  of  whom  I  am  sent  to  product 

m  person  I  "and  his  harsh  tones  feU  with  that  stemne^ 

and  cnielty  befitting  the  place  and  scene.    Even  then  it 

tockxng  aU  these  cruel  men.  that  I  could  speak  the  truth 
inaJl  smcenty.as  I  answered  boldlyandstraightforward- 

th«  nJ^^h  ^  *""  ^^^  ^^^  *^*^  "gJ^*^  Earl  of 
the  Orci^es  and  the  Cattynes.  son  of  Ian,  my  father 

now  dead,  of  noble  memory."  ' 

"Then  thou  wilt  soon  join  that  same  father"  he 

answer^.    "For  I  am  sent  to  bring  thee  int;  the 


ago 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


if 


] 


prwence  of  that  princely  Albany  whoae  very  imile  is 
death,  and  who  never  sendeth  for  any  from  this  place 
save  those  whom  he. would  put  out  of  life  ! " 

"Save  thy  words,   thou  cruel  man,"   I  answered. 
"  I  am  he  whom  you  seek.    Do  your  will." 

"Then,    in    short,"    he    cried.    "I,    Sir    Ambrose 
Whachope,  knight,  am  sent  by  the  most  potent  Prince 
Albany  to  fetch  thee,  the  treasonable  master  and  late 
Eari  of  the  Cattynes,  into  his  royal  presence  immedi- 
ate, there  to  receive  thy  doom;  so  for  such  prepare  thee." 
Then  he  said'  to  the  keepers,  harshly,  "  Do  ye  your 
work,"  and  in  a  short  time  these  grim  men  had  fastened 
to  my  wrists  and  ankles  heavy,  galling  chains ;  then, 
with  one  of  them  on  each  side  of  me,  I  left  the  room,* 
and  foUowed  the  knight  by  ways  of  long,  grim  corridors,' 
dark   passages    and    gloomy  stairs,  until  at  last  we 
arrived  at  a  great  door,  where  men  guarded  the  entrance, 
and  where  at  last  we  were  ushered  into  a  large  and  lofty 
apartment,  fashioned  and  furnished  in  noble  stateliness. 
At   the   upper   end   sat  some  men,  who  by  their 
person  and  manner  I  took  to  be  high  in  the  State, 
and  prominent  among  them  sat  one  whom  I  at  once 
knew   by  his   cold  sinister  face,  manner,  and  com- 
manding presence,  to  be  my  dread  cousin  Robert  the 
Duke  of  Albany.     He  wore  a  handsome  dark  cloak 
trimmed  with  fur,  and  had  on  his  head  an  eari's  bonnet, 
made  of  some  rich  stuff.    Round  his  neck,  hanging 
weU  down  in  front,  was  a  massive  gold  chain  of  broad 
flat  links,  and  attached  thereto  was  a  medal  of  some 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  251 

Order  either  of  our  land  or  of  Prance.  A.  he  looked 
•t  me  I  forgot  all  that  dread  company  of  judge,  in 
whoee  pre«,nce  I  stood,  for  there  wa/a  look  on  hiffU 

Mlfn>nted  him.  Ukethatof  mine  uncle  Angu..on;orn' 
even  darken  and  more  commandingly  il,  ^.^..1 U^ 

But  when  he  spake  it  was  with  the  sweetest  voice  I  had 
everhea«l,naman.alt'.ough  there  wasacnielunderno^ 

^J  L  .^."°*  °'  '''  '^'  '^^  °^  *^«  ^'^^  himself  he 
had  been  deceived  -•  co  thinking  that  it  was  the  voice  of 
human  tenderness  .nd  pity  for  his  fellow-men.  Hi,  / 
rarely  cruel  and  ambitious  nature,  and  the  dread  ma     er 

mwhich  he  compassed  the  death  of  mycousin.his  nephew 
Rothsay  so  soon  after  tWs  affair  of  mine,  hath  left  a 
Btam  on  his  name  which  is  but  iU  to  our  house,  and  s^rce 
equ^ed  in  crue%  in  the  worst  annals  of  our  W^^ 

«..Zfy7  ^"""^  '"''"  ^'  °"^'  ^^  Ws  voice 

art  thou  that  same  renegade  to  our  sovereign  brothe 
^d  the  laws  of  this  unhappy  Stete  ?  "  and  his  voice 
seemed  sorrowful  toward  me.  as  if  he  held  pity  rath 
than  sense  of  revenge  and  hate  against  his  Lort^^te 
cousin  of  the  Cattynes.    But  I  knew  by  his  i.J^l 
there  was  but  a  false  hope  in  the  sweef  sorroroft 
voice,  and  I  answered  as  well  as  I  could- 

"My  lord  prince,  if  thou  meanest  who  am  I.  I  am 
that  most  unhappy  of  lords  in  this  unhappy  la^d  th^ 
nghtful  Earl  of  the  Cattynes."  ^        ' 

d2  T'^r'".  \'  """'''''^'  "  °'  '^y  "g'^*  *«  the  earl- 
dom.    It  wiU  need  thee  little,  I  sorrow  to  say,  but  shortly. 


292  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

But  «ethink..»Iooldng  .tmed-pljrand  .^Idng^t^ly, 
th«t  thou  baat  changed  iomewh»t  mnoe  we  iMt  met?" 
Now  this  queetion  sUrtled  mo.    I  had  not  thought 
of  thi.  chance,  that  he  might  have  known  my  brother. 
Had  this  strange  man  by  hit  subtle  skiU  discovered 
what  none  else  could  see  f    I  determined,  however,  to 
put  a  bold  face  on  the  matter,  and  I  answered,  "  If 
thou  meanest,  sir  duke,  that  I  am  changed  in  person, 
thou  art  nght ;   for  the  cruelty  of  oppression,  the  ill 
gloom  of  my  ceU.  and  the  apprehension  of  my  fate  at 
thy  hands,  have  made  but  an  iJi  man  of  me,  so  that  I 
can  scarce  know  now  the  person  I  am  become." 

"Thou  wilt  know  me  waur  later,"  he  said,  and  the 
sweet  voice  but  ill  hid  the  poison  that  showed  in  his 
£aoe  when  he  said  it.  "  Thou  and  thy  father  betwixt 
thee  have  doomed  thy  house,  and  by  thy  lawless  deeds 
toward  Holy  Church  made  thy  name  a  horror  in  this 
land,  tiU  I  shame  to  know  that  there  be  blood  connection 
betwixt  us.  Then  I  have  heard  that  about  thyself 
which  maketh  it  impossible  that  thou  shouldst  go 
unpunished,  for  fear  that  greater  iU  should  come." 

By  this  I  must  have  made  some  friendship  for  mine  un- 
happy state  among  several  of  my  judges ;  for  a  taU  lord 
clothed  m  armour,  turned  and  said.  "Most  noble  Albany.' 
can  there  not  be  some  manner  of  punishment  meted  out 
to  this  most  unhappy  young  man  short  of  the  worrt  ? " 
"  What  mean  you.  Seton  ?  "  said  the  prince,  in  his 
most  sweet  manner.    "You  were  ever  quick  to  side 
with  treason  against  mine  august  brother." 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  293 

"My  LoKl  AlUny."  cried  the  other  in  quick  anger. 

Uy  no  .uch  chwge  on  me  I    Thy  royl  brother  and 

hi.  intereet  were  ever  mine,  and  that  o£  my  .word  to 

defend  hm,  even  were  it  againrt  thee ! "  and  he  wid 

thu  in  a  tone  that  would  have  rou«,d  any  other  man 

«ve  thi.  most  .ubtle  character. 

•Jea.  mort  noble  Seton."  he  answered,  a.  .weetly 

ao^^r  "*u  •i*'^'°*^«'^«"»^°ows  thine  aspermon, 
ag^t  myself.  But  I  remember  now;  this  youth 
hath  wme  hope  to  contract  marriage  with  a  lady  of  thy 
house,  s  It  not  so  ?  And  hath  he  not  some  blooj 
kinship  also  which  giveth  rise  to  thy  pity  ?  " 

"Nay.  most  noble  prince!  'Tis  not  this  which 
moveth  me  m  tLe  matter."  cried  the  Loid  Seton.  "  But 
I  gneve  for  .0  brave  and  weU-looking  a  youth,  who  is 
yet  young,  and  suffering,  as  we  aU  know,  for  his  father's 
«n  who  IS  now  dead  and  called  to  account  ehwwhere. 
But  were  thy  words  true,  'tis  but  nature,  and  I  appeal 
to  thee.  18  he  not  of  thy  blood  also  ?  " 

"  This  '•  answered  Albany. "  is  all  the  more  reason  that 
we  should  make  the  punishment  of  the  sin  not  over  light  • 
for  If  we  aUow  those  of  our  own  blood  to  err  againsTthe' 
State  tow  «ui  we  fairly  rule  this  great  land  with  justice 
to  aU  ?       And  he  looked  at  them  there  as  though  he  were 
the  most  impartial  judge,  and  not  the  most  cruel  and 
tj^ous  of  men.  which  our  times  have  seen ;  and  my 
Whole  heart  rose  in  scorn  that  I  should  owe  my  life  to 
the  hands  of  such  a  man.  and  I  burned  with  duune  and 
angerthatheshouldbecalledofmyblood.  Solcriedout^ 


1 


hi 


!        I 


S94  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

m  the  .pglt  of  Heaven  I  "    At  tbia  thev  all  atmTn 

^«^„^KIw^,,aa.  andawU.pe,l::i<:X^^ 
Then  «ver^  ,p„k  „„t_  ,„j„^  ^^  ^  ^ 

tte  «jme  e«ect,  that  I  ahould  be  .pared  the  ex^me 
pmu.hn,ent.  which  they  »w  the  dl  de««d  J3d 

.natural  dread  of  this  terrible  oouein  of  nnne,  who  S 
ae  power  of  Scotland  in  hie  band.,  and  wh  ~,^f  f 
pretence  of  mercy  to  «,Me  and  juatice  to  aU,  pr«^d 
the  m«t  crnel  tyr«my ;  and  held  the  inward  Lbi&n 
0  o^  b«  br^er-e  fannly  fron.  that  throne  wS 
h«  had  sworn  to  obey  and  protect. 
But  thU  man  was  one  who  knew  how  far  to  go  and 

there  who  held  hs  view  of  my  o«»  as  one  to  be  worthy 
0  death.  B"t..sI««nfoundtemycost,heh«iaway 
0  b«  own  o  seeming  h,  give  in  to  other,  and  to  foZ 
one  revenge  for  another  even  more  terrible.  ^ 

y«  speak  truly,  most  noble  lords,"  he  said     ••  In 
.  sense  the  late  earl,  our  renegade  cousin  of  the  Caitynes 
wasm^ttot^^,  forthedeedsdoneintheearlZ^ 
m  chref  ror  this  most  heinous  murder  of  a  prince  Z  My 
Church  a  omne  unsurpassed  in  its  cruelty  and  sacrilero 

Md  m  woul,l  ,t  be  were  the  Holy  Father  and  the  princei 
At  this  subtle  argument,  which  appealed  to  that 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  295 

common  fear  of  the  Church  which  is  shared  by  the  Lords 
and  Commons  of  our  realm,  I  could  see  that  Albany  had 
made  a  strong  point  against  me.    But  he  continued- 

"  Seeing  that  the  father  were  the  greater  sinner  in  this 
matter,  perchance  the  son  may  be  able  to  clear  himself 
as  regards  this  crime,  even  though  he  be  guilty  of  other 
ones,  mcluding  the  direct  defiance  of  the  King's  orders 
and  commands,  even  to  the  extent  of  bringing  about 
bloodshed  among  his  liege's  loyal  subjects."  Then, 
turning  to  me,  he  said — 

"Perchance  thou  canst  satisfy  these  thy  peers  of 
thine  absence  from  that  most  sacrilegious  attack  on  the 
Church's  hold.    Wert  thou  present  on  that  occasion  ?  " 

"My  lord  prince,"  I  answered,  "it  were  useless  to 
deny  that  I  was  of  the  party  who  committed  that 
unhappy  act.    But  I  must  say  plainly  that  though 
my  late  father  the  earl  may  have  been  much  to  blame 
yet  the  unfortunate  bishop  was  equaUy,  if  not  mor^ 
so,  to  blame ;  and  by  his  wicked  and  unchurchly  treachery 
and  pnde  brought  about  his  own  destruction,  which  he 
had  not  done  had  he  kept  himself  to  the  affairs  of  the 
soul,  which  matters  alone  it  being  his  duty  to  attend  to." 
Now  there  was  much  in  what  I  said  that  would  have 
appealed  to  the  sense  of  most  of  my  judges  ;  but  the  wily 
Albany  at  once  exclaimed— 

"  See  ye  that  he  not  only  acknowledges  his  part  in 
the  crime,  but  justifies  its  occurrence  ?  "  Then  turning 
to  me,  he  said — 

"  Neither  do  I  suppose,  my  lord  earl,  that  the  sword 


1^' 


a96  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

oi  so  gallant  an  exponent  of  thy  father'.  n««, 

I  took  no  part  in  the  .ttoek.    But  to  p«wifkT' 

_Of.te«th.mj-I„rfprince.Ie«a„tdi„j,th.titw«" 

em.™.    Therefore,  my  lord.Tl,.  f^  *°°'  "^ 

Iu»  m.ny  crimes,  which  merited  tZf  ^  ' 

«»t.  .honia  U  foreign  ^ ^threX^'  '■"^• 

dema.tion.ndT  71    Tk^T  *«^  a«°  ">i»  «>»■ 

.tood  ther, dlent  „d he^"bl"h^':  T'    ^  ' 
"Thereforp"   i.         ."  ™/ °'®**^  »^  l^e  continued— 

penalty  oTLI  °"  '^  *'*  ■■'  *"-''»  '««- 

p   -Oe  CL^rer-:^-^    ^  " 
Then  he  continued-  ""^  '*'*^"^- 


!-1 


I 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  297 

"  We  have  taken  counsel  with  a  wise  father  in  the 
Church,  a  near  relative  of  this  young  man,  and  as  we  have 
made  vow  to  our  patron  saint  that  this  same  lord  should 
Me  his  earldom  no  more,  we  have  decided  to  send  him 
back  thereto  after  receiving  that  punishment  for  his 
crimes  which  our  royal  brother's  forgiving  mercy  and 
•  favour  have  meted  out  to  him."  Then,  in  his  sweetest 
tones,  he  continued — 

"Most  noble,  but  renegade  Earl  of  the  Cattynes, 
It  is  the  royal  wiU  that  this  day,  for  thy  i  ay  sins 
committed  against  this  kingdom  of  Scotland,  you  be 
taken  to  the  proper  place  for  such  punishment,  and 
that  there,  by  the  hand  of  our  appointed  executioner, 
you  suffer  the  penalty  of  having  your  sight  for  ever 
destroyed  by  the  ordeal  of  red-hot  irons ;  and  may 
Heaven  in  its  mercy  have  pity  on  your  soul !  " 

At  this  dread  sentence,  the  most  terrible  next  to  death 
Itself,  and  in  the  eyes  of  many  even  worse,  a  shudder 
ran  through  the  assembled  company  of  lords,  some  of 
whom  looked  on  me  with  a  sad  compassion.    There  was 
some  murmuring,  but  no  spoken  remonstrance  save  by  the 
Lord  Seton,  who,  standing  up  and  facing  the  duke,  said— 
"And  I.mylord  prince,  will  have  naught  to  do  with  this 
most  cruel  and  brutaldeed! "  and  sosaying  heleft  the  hall. 
The  prince  spoke  not  a  word,  but  merely  smiled. 
Then,  turning  to  the  men  who  guarded  me,  he  said  to 
^em  sternly,  "  Do  your  duty !  »    And  with  a  sense 
of  horror  that  overcame  me,  I  was  led  forth  from  his 
presence. 


m 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

T't  ^Tr  '^°''  """^  """  '~^  t^-  -- 
in  wluch  I  WM  a  8ad  and  unwilling  aotor  would 

iav.  b^n  onut^d  by  n.e  in  .hi.  ^..Ztf  n,7iil^* 
"one  to^  revpiang  i„  it,  p^,„,^_  .^  ^  ^^• 
detaU  of  h„u^  3„g,ring ;  and  .,,  in  hi.  pL  the  (4 

l^S,I^*h      ;  ^  ""^"^  ""« '""«•  "«"  "  "ot  that 
.  .toange  thing  happened  in  connection  with  thi.  bitter 

ei^penenc  of  nunc  which  it  i,  necee^iy  to  „Uto Td 

which  doweth  how  «m„kable  iTaThand  o^  Pro" 

oSe°4t:;r''°*'""''^'-»--^"«'»^'-- 

thllf  f  f  i°^"«""  '•n  of  that  grim  ctle,  led  by 

•nd  a  film  of  m«t,  as  it  were.  bef„„  my  7gH ;  and  none 
^y  blame  me  for  thi, ;  for  who  wodd  not  h.^  felt  Z 
Ad  m  .uc!,  toad  circumstances  !  i  had  entered  th. 
Pl«e,  prepared,  as  much  as  ,-  ■  p.  ,„rta,  manTant 
for  death;  yea,  death  in  .«  most  revolting  fo^^ 
moe  men ;  b„t  death  at  least,  sharp  and  sudlen  wUch 
would  end  all.    But  for  this  new  horrorl  was^^ 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  299 

prepared,  and  to  undergo  this  most  hideous  mutUation 
made  me  shudder,  and  turned  aU  the  world  of  man  into 
a  hideous  mask  of  cruelty  before  mine  eye.    To  him  who 
hath  a  love  of  the  beautiful  in  the  face  of  Nature,  who 
fleeth  fairness  and  sweetness  in  aU  form,  who  knoweth 
the  face  and  presence  of  friend  and  beloved  :  to  this  one, 
to  have  the  windows  of  this  world  closed  to  him  for 
ever,  and  still  to  linger  on,  perchance  for  years,  a  poor, 
sightless  trunk;  to  have  to  pick  his  way  where  others 
might  walk  in  full  enjoyment  of  their  power,  were  a 
terrible  alternative,  and  to  me  in  particular  one  for 
which  I  had  no  heart,  and  but  a  grept  horror.    To  some 
souls  anything  might  have  been  better  than  death, 
so  long  as  they  should  be  near  those  they  loved,  to  hold 
communion  in  no  matter  what  form ;  but  to  me,  as  I 
was  situated,  where  aU  was  hopeless  so  far  as  this  world 
was  concerned,  the  ordeal  I  was  to  undergo  was  too 
horrible  to  contemplate.    It  has  ever  been  a  marvel 
to  me  how  men  can  be  so  hideously  cruel  to  their 
feUow-beings.    I  could  understand  the  fierce   cruelty 
of  a  soul  in  agony  in  quick,  sudden  anger  taking  terrible 
revenge  for  some  great  wrong  done.    This  may  be 
miderstood  as  a  mood  of  one  who  hath  lost  his  mind, 
one  to  be  deplored,  but  pitied.    But  this  cold,  cruel, 
calcukting   nature,    such    as   could    send    a    young 
man  to  a  doom  Hke  mine,  is  beyond  mine   under- 
standing;   and    can    only    be    explained    by    those 
demonologists  who,  among  our  Church  fathers,  have 
considered   such   pitUess   souls   as   creations   of   the 


300 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


foul    fiend    himself    to    comiDt    .r^A    . 

world.  ^P'    '^^^    torment   thia 

OTO«UM  me  ,t  «■„  "il  T  "*'  lopelMenea.  that 

would  z,p^;ra.^'  "r"  ■""  -*««'  ■».  ^ 

those  grim  men  Ut«  n«^  ,-     j  wauced  between 

they  led  r^el^   ^"  '^^"  «*  «■«■'  ««»••    So 

emerged  from  .  ride  poetera  iZll  ■*"  "* 

from  whioi,  tW  Jn^^Te  eJ:i'^„"^"™  ^'^' 
one-time  merry  Hn.  of  h.  °*  ™''  "» 

Tien,  „  tt  TmX V  eer:r:  f"*"*  '"°- 
and  I  became  a  Ji»i^„  ™  '*'''  """^  ■»»»> 

w«  going  ri'Td^riTe  *"  'r'  r  ■'°'"  ^"^ 

to  occur.    It  was  a  lJ^'>^^*  "'""""•'»"' 
bit.  of  armorhJZ^  ^^L"'"  ""*«'' """t-ith 

and  .11  hT         ^^'"'  '"»'"''  '"ord.  and  ««» 
«<i  an  tl»  gea,  p,rt»ining  to  .!«  w„A  „f  ,  ^; 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  301 

armourer.  There  were  a  forgo  and  two  anvils,  and 
upon  one  of  the  latter  a  strapping  apprentice  was  beat- 
ing life  into  a  blade  he  was  fashioning  in  merry  mood 
to  drink  life  of  some  poor  mortal.  As  he  worked  he  sang 
the  while  a  gay  troll  or  catoh.  I  remember  it  well, 
his  gay  song  and  heartless  mood,  as  I  thought  then,  who 
could  so  lightly  sing  in  so  cruel  a  world.  His  song,  as  I 
remember  it,  went  thus — 

"Laugh,  love,  and  sing  alway; 
life  be  made  for  sport  and  play; 
Happy  the  open  and  close  of  day. 
For  soon  onr  beauty  it  be  but  day,— 
While  Dwrrily  rings  the  anvil." 

On  the  other  anvil,  with  his  back  to  us,  and  by  his 
side  a  brimming  flagon  of  nut-brown  ale,  and  a  great 
lump  of  bread-and-meat  in  his  hand,  sat  the  other  sitiith, 
who  seemed  by  his  build  and  appearance  to  be  ?;he 
master  of  the  forge. 

"Ho!  master  armourer,"  cried  the  officer.  "Heat 
thy  searing  iron  in  thy  forge  red-hot,  for  we  have  brought 
thee  a  fine  pair  of  eyes  for  thee  to  scoroh  the  daylight 
out  of.    So  haste  thee,  for  we  be  in  a  hurry." 

Then  the  strange  thing  happened  which  I  have  to 
tell;  for  he  slowly  rose,  and,  placing  the  can  of  ale 
whence  he  had  taken  it,  being  about  to  indulge  in  a  long 
draught,  turned  about  to  look  at  us ;  and  to  my  amaze- 
m.ent  there  stood  before  me  the  master-armourer  of 
Gimigoe,  to  whom  I  had  served  apprenticeship. 
It  hath  been  said  that  such  sudden  encounters  or 


302 


I'i 


;f 


t  ; 


f 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


-oipriaes  have  been  the  test  of  leal  «#*  • 

«  thi«  be  80.  the  nuiateriln  *^     '"  "'^*  "»«»• 

ever -ince;  and  he  hath  b  en  JerLtaM  .T  ^"«^* 
mother-wit  that  eummerCt  u    ^'^  '°'  ^"^  °ool 

calied  from  his  ^^.  J^T'  ^"^'^  ^^  '^^  '^^^-- 
Wr  co.pa.raXtr ^*  ^^^^"^''^^^  *^  ^^- 

"ward  for  setting  mine  17/^  Jr*^**  *^  '^'^  "^7 
tJ^  man  should  come  w!  1  '"'^^^  ^«'  ^^at 
TLen  it  seemed  thatThe«"  ,t  "^  *^  ^  ^^^' 
tion  of  mymiserv  J«7  *?*  ''"'"^  *°^«  »meliora. 
-ember^oirSero"^  ^r^^^  -  ^^-.d 
prepared  for  his  action  toward  mrn  ^  ""^  ^'^^  "^ 
W«  jaw  dropped  in  somral        ^*  "  *™«  *h»t  «*  fi«t 

fi^ttoreco^fhis  ^tTn/T'"'^^^  ^"^^  ^'  ^^  'he 
"  Wnii        \  '  ^**  ^*^  naught. 

.«d  r;Z     """""'•  ^  "«■"  «» ■»"  -t  tor.." 

^^^L^'JS.T^  ^"^^ ""  to 

'^J  Um«>L         '""'^  'i^'PPo.nted,  for  h.  «ud  in  but 

x- » t-is  wo,H  w j-.trr™"'' ""' " ""  "« 


1-. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  303 

"  K  ye  mean  that  I  ran  away  from  Girnigoe,  that  I 
did,  and  with  right  goodwiU,"  said  the  smith. 

"Then  thine  wiU  be  a  right  merry  work  this  mom 
my   brave   master   armourer."   answered   the   officer! 
Old  scores  are  sometimes  repaid  even  to  my  lord 
earls,  are  they  not  ?  " 

The  armourer  started  at  this,  and  looked  at  me 
wonderingly.  But  I  spake  not.  Then,  to  my  horror 
and  astonishment,  my  one-time  acquaintance  said  in 
stem  tone  to  the  keepers — 

"  Bring  yon  dog  this  way,  that  we  may  put  his  eye- 
holes  out."  ^ 

I  could  no  longer  hold  myself,  but  said— 
"Sirrah,  hast  thou  no  heart,  no  remembrance?" 
But  he  only  laughed  in  my  face,  and  said  to  the  musical 
apprentice,  who  had  stayed  in  his  song  to  look  at  me  in  a 
kind  of  dull  wonder — 

"Heat  thy  searing  iron,  and  heat  it  weU!  Mind  thou 
gettest  It  hot  as  thou  canst ! »  Even  the  officer  was 
surprised  at  his  bratal  mood,  for  he  said— 

''  It  must  be  a  deep  gmdge  thou  owesi :  im." 

"  'Tis  Uttle  else  we  poor  get  from  his  kind,"  said  the 
armourer.  "  'Tis  my  turn  now,  fear  not !  "  he  said  to 
theofficer,  but  looking  at  me.    "I  will  do  my  work  well"* 

The  apprentice  was  now  blowing  at  the  forge  aU  he 
was  able;  but  the  fierce  armourer  was  not  satisfied, 
but  cned  m  anger,  with  many  oaths— 

"Jeat  it  hot,  to  hell's  hotness  !    Nothing  short  wUl 


304  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

I  wai  mora  and  more  amaied  at  this  madman,  as  I 
thought  him,  but  I  was  to  be  mora  amaied  yet. 
^^  "  Ckrry  not  thy  fierceness  too  (ar !  "  cried  the  officer, 
for  his  death  would  be  a  sore  work  on  our  hands." 

"Ciy  not  mercy  to  me,  damn  you  I"  cried  the 
armourer.  "  Mercy  for  such  as  him !"  he  said,  with  an 
oath,  and  to  my  wonder  and  indignation  he  took  up  his 
flagon  of  untasted  ale,  and  crying.  "  Take  that,  thou 
dog  of  an  earll  »  flung  the  contents  in  my  face  with  such 
force  and  direction  that  for  an  instant  I  was  blinded 
with  the  stuff,  that  covered  my  face  and  ran  down  on  my 
doublet.  ^ 

"Dog  of  an  armourer  1"  cried  the  officer,  "thy 
contempt  carrieth  thee  too  far  I "  but  the  keepers  only 
laughed  a  brutal  Uugh  at  this  eccentricity  of  the  master 
armourer.  As  for  me,  I  tried  to  wipe  my  face  with  my 
manacled  hands,  but  could  not ;  and  amid  disgust  and 
horror  was  standing  in  amasement,  when  I  was  surprised 
to  hear  him  whisper  as  he  passed  me  to  examine  mine 
eyes — 

"  As  thou  valuest  thy  life,  wipe  it  not  off  I »'    Then 

he  said  m  brutal  tones  to  the  keepers,  "  Hold  him  tight  • 
Let  him  not  move  on  your  lives  I "  Then  he  turned 
to  the  apprentice  and  shouted,  in  tones  of  hard  com- 
mand— 

"  Quick,  now.  the  iron  ere  it  cools  I  "  But  another 
dread  event  was  to  happen.  Just  as  I  was  looking, 
as  I  thought,  for  the  last  time  on  sweet  blue  skies  imd 
heaven  s  sunlight,  a  man  rushed  with  an  agonising  veU 


asl 


■J 

,  i 
t 


/''Tiva.^. 


Ian  ok  the  Okcaijes. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  305 

into  the  courtyard  ;  and  to  my  torpriBe  I  mw  it  wm  mine 
evU  ancle,  the  prieit.  There  wm  *  terrible  look  on  hia 
«Me,  M  of  one  who  had  been  trapped  in  hi>  own  ill- 
deairea,  aa  he  cried— 

"Stay,  ye  fiendai  Stoy  I  It  ia  all  a  miatoke!" 
Then,  ere  anyone  could  apeak  or  atir,  he  fell  in  a  dread  fit, 
>uch  aa  I  had  seen  once  before  on  the  sands  at  Gimigoe. 
But  they  minded  him  not  any  more  than  though  he  were 
•  d<^ ;  and  ere  I  could  cry  or  think,  those  cruel  men  had 
me  in  a  vice.  There  came  a  noise  of  hissing  and  hot 
metal ;  and  a  white  agonising  and  bUnding  light  swept 
across  my  face  with  a  pain  as  of  heU ;  and  for  some  time 
after  I  knew  no  more. 


so 


<l 


liii* 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

TT  seemed  days  after  that  I  came  to  myself  to  find 
that  all  was  black,  save  for  a  dim  sense  of  the 
light  of  the  world  beyond  my  shut  tent  of  vision.  And 
I  know  that  I  was  in  the  open,  and  on  my  way  back  to 
Girnigoe.  Then  all  came  back  to  me  with  a  rush  and 
a  memory  of  my  dread  position.  But  ere  I  could  moan, 
drink  was  at  my  lips,  and  a  voice  said  in  compassion 
and  respect — 

"  My  lord  earl,  doth  the  pain  leave  you  ?  "  It  was 
the  voice  of  the  leech  who  spoke,  who  now  attended  me 
with  great  care ;  for  now  that  the  duke's  revenge  was 
worked  on  me,  I  was  treated  with  all  deference  and 
respect  as  became  my  position.  Yea,  I  was  an  eari  now, 
or  the  mock  shadow  of  one,  and  they  were  taking  me 
back  in  grim  splendour  to  Girnigoe.  I  tried  to  think  and 
to  plan  or  wonder  how  all  would  come  out ;  but  the  pain 
in  mine  eyes  was  maddening,  and  I  was  glad  when  the 
leech  placed  some  cool,  soothing  lotion  on  them  and 
relieved  me,  as  a  sick  child  is  tended  by  its  mother.  In 
this  manner  and  this  dread  condition,  after  fourteen 
days,  did  I  arrive  at  Castle  Gimi  ie.  It  was  a  sad 
entry  for  me,  and  for  those  who  expacte'   ae  :  for,  as  I 

8M 


IAN  or  THE  ORCADES  307 

found  aftfc  w£-d,  the  dr^id  iU  that  had  befaUen  me  had 
reached  Gkiugoe  ceoner  than  I,  as  ill-news  doth  ever 
fl7  quickly ;  while  the  real  earl,  my  brother  Hugh, 
having  got  back  in  disguise,  had  for  several  reasons  kept 
himself  in  secret ;  for  that  by  all.  he  having  arrived  at 
night,  he  was  taken  for  me  and  so  treated.  Whatever 
his  feeUngs  were,  I  knew  not  for  some  time ;  but,  as 
matters  now  stood,  it  was  a  tragical  situation,  and  one 
which,  in  mine  agony  of  pain  and  darkness,  seemed  to  me 
to  be  past  working  out. 

The  lady  countess,  who  was  in  much  anguish  of 
mind,  thinking  me  her  son  the  earl,  received  me  in 
great  woe  of  heart,  and  had  me  borne  at  once  to  the  earl's 
room  ;  for  the  leech  had  said  that  if  there  was  any 
sUght  chance  of  mine  ever  seeing  day  again,  I  must  for 
some  months  be  kept  in  'darkness.    This  chance  hope 
given  me,  I  learned  afterwards,  was  all  owing  to  the 
friendship  and  splendid  mother-wit  of  the  good  master- 
armourer  ;  and  his  mode  of  saving  me  was  by  means  of 
those  actions  which  were  considered  greatest  evidence 
of  his  hatred  to  me,  the  deluging  me  with  the  ale  and  the 
heating  of  the  iron  to  the  hottest  point,  both  com^tining, 
I  am  told,  to  form  a  sort  of  fihn  or  coating  over  the  eye- 
ball ;  and  so  protected  the  inner  part  from  the  too  fierce 
heat  of  the  dread  iron.    For  aU  this,  I  was  in  sad  dark- 
ness for  many  a  day,  and  never  even  unto  this  time  have 
fully  recovered  so  as  to  see  God's  heaven  and  the  face 
of  Nature  and  my  fellow-men  as  some  souls  do.    But 
of  this  all  in  its  place.    For  the  time,  the  greatest  woe 


if' 


I' 


ii 


308  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

to  me  WM  the  way  in  which  the  poor  countess,  whom  I 
now  pitied  m  my  heart,  went  on  about  me.  kissing  me 
SL  P;t«f  ^io"^.  '^nd  saying  that  her  pridThad 

killed  me  and  had  been  my  destruction. 

"My  son!  Oh.  my  son  Hugh!"  she  said,  as  she 
leaned  over  my  couch  in  the  dark  apartment,  "  why  do 
you  not  speak  to  me  ?    Why  art  thou  so  cold  to  thy 

^t^W  t  '  ""  '"'^'^    *«   *--*   -7  voice 

Speak  to  me.  Hugh  !  »  she  wailed.     "  Tell  thy  mother 

that  thou  forgivest  her  for  her  mad  counsel !    Speak  to 

me.  and  say  that  thou  dost  forgive  me  !  " 

"  I  forgive  thee  !  "  I  said  in  a  weak  voice. 

''  Say  that  thou  still  lovest  me  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Yea.  I  sorrow  lor  thee,  even  after  all,  and  pity  thee  '  " 
I  cned.  and  I  meant  what  I  said,  for  her  woe  went  to 
my  heart,  and  I  dreaded  the  hour  when  all  this  would 
nave  to  be  revealed. 

"  l^°\^'^  ^^^J^'  ^7  3n.»  she  said,  as  she  fixed  my 
couch  m  that  tender  mamier  only  a  woman  can.  "  Thou 
wantest  rest." 

"  Yea,  I  would  be  alone  !  "  I  cried. 

"  Yea.  madam."  added  the  leech.'  "  would  you  have 

him  recover  he  must  be  left  alone  with  much  rest  and 

"  Then  I  wiU  leave  thee,  my  son,"  she  said,  and  she 
leaned  over  and  kissed  my  brow,  and  a  feeling  that  it 
and  her  woe  gave  me.  together  with  my  sense  of  the 
whole  sad  matter  and  my  dread  blindness,  smote  me  so 
tnat  I  broke  down  and  sobbed. 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  309 

"Now,  madam,  you  must  leave  him,"  cried  the 
leech,  and  with  much  grief  and  tenderness  she  went. 
Then  the  leech  dressed  mine  eyes  and  gave  me  some 
cool  restorative,  and  departed  also.  He  was  a  wise  man, 
according  to  his  Ught,  and  trusted  much  to  Nature, 
and  Uttle  to  those  quackeries  practised  by  many  of  our 
mediciners.  So  I  was  left  alone  with  my  thoughts  • 
and  they  were  all  that  I  had  left  me.  But  my  mind  was 
busy  on  two  matters  :  first,  I  marveUed  where  she  was  ; 
then  I  questioned  what  was  become  of  Hugh.  These 
two  thoughts  worried  me  for  some  time,  and  much  as 
I  would  try  to  drive  them  away  they  would  come  ba^.k. 
As  I  lay  there  in  this  meditation,  the  door  opened  softly, 
and  I  heard  a  step  approach  my  couch,  and  a  voice! 
that  of  Hugh,  said,  in  a  sad,  despairing  tone— 

"  Ian,  my  brother !  "  and  he  had  my  hand  in  his, 
and  was  kissing  it,  and  weeping  over  it,  as  if  he  had  now 
known  me  for  the  first  time.  "  And  thou  didst  all  this 
for  me  ?  »  he  cried.  "  Thou  gavest  thy  life,  but  it  is 
ah  m  vain  !  »  he  continued.  "  Why  didst  thou  not  let 
me  die  ? " 

Hugh,"  I  answered,  '  I  did  it  but  for  the  best.    I 
did  it  for  you  and  for  her." 

"  Yea,"  he  cried,  "  I  see  it  all  now,  but  it  can  never 
be  as  thou  hast  intended.  My  heart  is  broken.  I  now 
see  your  kindness  to  us  all.  Thou  hast  done  what  I 
may  never  repay ;  and  all  for  what  ?  I  now  know  what 
18  just  m  aU  this  matter.  Thou  art  the  eldest  son  of  our 
father,  and  the  rightful  earl  to  this  great  possession. 


3IO 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


"agD,    I  answered,  "  I  am  h.,f  «         i     , 
^7  thou  here  and  leip  tty  „,a^  "  ST    "l.'  ""'■'  = 
never  Me  th«  „  thou  d,«t."  ^  ""'"'"  ""' 

"  She  miist !  "  he  crioH     "  u        •  ■    . 
«'«>»«  in  the  paet."  "  ''"''°  '"''  >«'"  'oo 

-e'f!;'.h':ra!:dt;:J:°: ' " '  "™^-  •■ «-» «"''«. 

"gbt .»  ohelt  her  tLT""''  '*"'"»•    "«'  «^»k  it 

'"Tis  her  just  pimishmenf"   »,« 
poormotherf    An^    u        ,      '     ^«  answered.     "Mv 

Ever  since  this  d«ad  Iri  "^ '"'"«'  ""k ' 

"•"•    But  kl  thf.  ""'"f"™™*  I  '■»  «  the  ame 

•nf^™i.ret::?thtih*'::Sh."f '-  --^  ^-^  »- 

•Me  to  him    but  inT%"*     *'"  ""  ""'•"    T"-"  I 

«e.    ^Hen"-e^t"wCT;iT''lr;' "''''' 
her  yet  ?  '*  "®**  *nou  seen 

N«7,"  be  answered.  "  'tia  *>.« 
tut  hath  made  m.  th!  ,    ""^  """*«'  °'  W 

«>«ow  to  «,fi    bntt,"^       ""^  ""°«  *■""  I  ««■•    I 

iw,berr:r4t::^;s'd"""'rv""'"«*' 

•keotber-a  scorn  and  oonte^pu  fear"'  ^"=  '"'  '"^ 
__  Not  ,f  she  Wetb  thee  truly,"  I  „ri,i 

.  ~rt  ^'.Ir'   .';™    •  '"J  '^•"  '«  «— 0,  with 
Ever  anc.  I  .Uowed  thee  to  take  my 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  311 

place  I  feel  as  if  I  had  lost  myself.  I  should  never  have 
done  it.  Why  didst  thou  tempt  me  ?  'Tis  I  should 
have  died  for  my  house  and  mine  honour,  and  not  thou." 

"  Hugh,"  I  answered,  "  try  and  face  thee  this  matter 
as  God  would  have  thee.  Thou  hast  done  naught 
wrong.  'Twas  I  deceived  thee.  'Twas  for  her  sake  also, 
remember  that." 

"  Nay,  thou  art  wrong,  Ian,"  he  answered.    "  Hear 
me  out,  for  I  am  a  dead  man.    Thou  must  know  the 
truth,  and  thou  alone,  for  thou  hast  done  all,  and  thou 
lovest  me,  and  thou  art  strong.    Not  to  priest  or  other 
would  I  tell  this.    My  mother  must  never  know,  nor 
she  above  all ;  but  know  thou  that  from  the  moment  I 
entered  that  dread  prison  my  hope  of  life  went  out  like 
a  wick  in  a  lamp,  and  my  manhood  with  it.    The  sight 
of  those  grim  engines  of  torture,  and  the  cruel  eyes  and 
taunts  of  those  ill  men,  gave  me  a  horror  of  all  which 
lay  before  me,  till  I,  who  would  haVe  laughed  at  death, 
grew  as  fearsome  and  as  cowardly  as  a  giri  with  anticipa- 
tion of  what  might  come  to  me.    I  could  not  sleep  at 
night,  and  I  sat  all  day  waiting  and  waiting,  and  every 
time  that  brute-keeper  came  to  my  door,  I  thought  it 
was  to  take  me  forth  to  torture  or  death.    Then  I 
longed  for  the  air  and  sunlight,  and  mine  old  freedom 
once  again,  as  a  sick  man  longs  for  health  and  strength  ; 
and  when  thou  camest,  oh  !  my  brother,  with  that  offer 
of  thine,  thou  little  knewest  whom  thou  wert  releasing, 
and  with  what  a  beating  heart  I  took  thine  offer.    Nay, 
nay,  it  were  not  mine  earidom,  nor  even  her ;  but  my 


3ia 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


by  am  mine  «t  1 1„„  ,„.  J  °' ™  ""»■  '"  I  fe«I  th.t 
™u.  tut  he  ^i„ped  mv  ul    '         "'  "^  '""    *"-! 

•X-    Yet  I  Jwr.^"  It^^'"  -*"  •"•' 
out  in  onr  poor  brolr.-  .    ,  1  ™  *'""''  ""Aed 

«lW!  on  nnne  o^  ^7.LL  ,    ■'°'  "^  '^  «^>  "" 
-.k.  it  .U  come  Sh^/i^L  ^'"^ '""'  I  """"-J 

«d  /«,  do™  r:  °™  T^  k"t  •  de«l  „.„  . 
The  mo«  I  tWu      .     "«"  "'  '^  »<""  '«  ever 

--4':::jt'rtCtr;-'»°"'"eep 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES  ,13 

longii^  in  my  heart,  such  as  a  wounded  creature  might 
have,  whom  men  say  iongs  to  go  home  to  its  own 
haunts  to  die,  so  longed  I  for  one  more  sight  of  her  or 
knowledge  of  her  presence,  and  then  to  pass  from  it  aU 

Then  a  wonderful  thing  did  happen ;  and  it  seemed 
as  though  Heaven,  in  its  long  forgetfulness  of  me 
remembered  at  last,  and  gave  answer  to  my  prayer' 
For  as  I  lay  there  the  door  opened  and  then  shut  and 
though  I  heard  but  a  light  step,  for  all  was  but  dread 
darkness  to  me,  who  only  knew  presence  by  sound  and 
feeling,  yet  I  knew  as  weU  as  God  was  in  heaven  that 
It  was  she  who  ctood  before  me.    Then  I  lay  stiU  and 
let  my  heart  beat,  knowing  that  if  I  dared  but  speak 
I  might  reveal  all ;  and  now  I  knew  that  it  was  not  in  the 
taldng  of  Hugh's  place,  nor  in  the  going  to  mutilation 
or  death,  but  now,  even  now,  that  the  great  struggle 
of  my  We  was  to  come.    So  I  lay  still  and  feigned  sleep, 
though  I  felt  if  my  heart  beat  so  loud  ir  my  breast  that 
she  must  have  heard  it  like  a  beU  proclaiming  my  love 
and  fierce  longing  to  take  her  into  mine  arms  and  die 
Then  I  felt  her  come  near  and  bend  down;  and  it  is 
marvellous  how  many  senses  Nature  gives  to  those  in 
ove;   but  I  felt  her  beauty  and  maidenly  tenderness 
there  m  that  room  as  a  lily  that  bloomed  therein.    Then 
when  I  felt  her  lips  on  my  fevered  forehead,  it  were  as  if 
God  had  bent  down  and  spoke  to  me  at  last.    Then  she 
spake  as  if  to  herself;  and  a  strange  fear  and  wonder 
overcame  me  as  she  said— 
"  God  help  me,  and  I  have  been  untrue  to  him !   I 


n 


314  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

for  whom  he  hath  suffered  all.  and  he  «o  noble!    Oh 

him  were  false,  but  I  even  T  »!,«   i.    ,7?  "^ 

wl.7f-  r  ■.  ^*'  ''°'''®  «°^o*«  80  pitiful  that  I 

who  hatened,  marvelled  af  fi,,-  ♦     -ui    *^     "''  "^"^^  ^' 

and  my  I„u,d  to  bad  him  i  ••    a^  k    '>■"'»  •»»• 
could  no  longer  lorbeJH^  h  ^  '^'  "'^  '"»  ' 

«~»M.;  then  .ho  hentZ^^re  ^d  J^/.."!,'''-' 
art  thou  awake  ? »    Tl,««  t       ,I  '     ^^  ^°'^» 

My  Lady  Margaret,  is  it  thou  »  » 
At  that,  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  or  the  way  I  said 
It.  I  know  not^unless.  I  have  since  thought,  it  Ta. 
she  stln  Tr:^  '°"  ''  ""  «^«  ^---d  m     Z 
<Jii,God!    Oh,  God!    Oh,  God'" 
At  that  my  lady  countess  came  into  the  room,  crying- 
My  son!    My  son!    Is  he  dead  ?    ni,  f /ii     ^ 
be  is  dead  »  »    R«*  t        ,f  ^  ^^  '  **"  °^«  ^ot 

dead .       But  I  could  feel  that  other  presence 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


315 


lean  over  me,  and  I  knew  her  startled,  terrible  anguish, 
and  chokeci  aobs,  as  she  said  these  words :  "  Is  it  thou  ?  " 
"  It  is  I "  1  answered.  Then  she  cried,  clutching  my 
hand  as^in  a  vice,  "  And  thou  didst  all  this  ?  Thou 
didst  all  this  ?  " 

"  Yea,  my  lady,"  I  cried.  "  Would  to  God  I  had  done 
it  better ! " 

"Oh!  my  fool  heart,"  she  said,  "I  might  have 
known !  I  might  have  known ! "  At  this  the  lady 
countess  broke  in,  saying,  "  What  meaneth  this  ?  " 

"This,  my  lady,"  cried  the  Lady  Margaret.  "It 
meaneth  that  it  is  we,  thou  and  I,  who  have  been 
blind  I " 

"  Girl ! "  cried  the  countess  in  terrible  rage,  "  wouldst 
thou  play  with  me  ?  " 

"  Know  yon  not,  proud  woman,"  answered  the  girl, 
"  who  this  is  ?  Not  thy  son  !  Not  the  Eari  Hugh  ! 
But  one  far  nobler,  far  greater  than  we  all !  Thy 
stepson  Ian,  who  hath  saved  thy  son." 

"  'Tis  a  Ue  !  By  Heaven,  'tis  a  foul  he  !  "  cried  the 
countess.  Then  she  came  near  me,  and  for  all  her 
hatred  I  could  not  but  be  stirred  by  the  woman's 
terrible  anguish,  which,  though  aU  was  darkness,  seemed 
to  fill  the  room. 

"  Hugh ! "  she  said ;  "  dread  Heaven !  my  son  Hugh, 
tell  me,  thy  mother,  that  it  is  all  a  lie  !  " 

Madam,"  I  began,  for  I  was  bewildered  by  it  all, 

"madam "      But    I   never  got  any  further,   for 

whether  it  was  the  awful  shock,  or  the  sudden  sense  of 


h 


316  '^N  OF  THE  ORCADES 

/     e  leu  lorward  to  the  ground  m  if  dead, 
"and  of  f«,tote»  i„'  ..  •"  "•  •  «»■*"«* 

thee;  „deven  I'd™™  tt  ^Tt-'™  "■""  "^  *"'  «» 

wouId'.n  ^.wev  1' "L  r"  *'*  "  "*  "» 
and  le.v.  \Z  "^  »  gW  d«M  of  tbi  aight, 

•na  leave  nw  more  dewhto  than  before     Ti,.„  i 
remembered  Hugh,  and  I  cried-        '*'°«'    Then  I 
Nay,   this  can  never  bn  f    ti.«„     _l     i  , 

H^VandlgaveaneLeX^I^.^Itr 
Iha..hvefo.broir™tr,r-^'""»* 

.u.a^;i^':j;--t,;;-^^'eeu.eedo 
p«.'b„,.,.,,^Xw'deLrn::\; 


li! 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


317 


thy  pity  i       ^v  poor,  maimed,  broken  body ;  but  tell 
me,  dost  thou  ove  me  ?  " 

"  Love  thee,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  loved  thee  from 
that  hour  when  thou  slewest  that  brute  in  the  bishop's 
castle.  From  that  hour  thou  wert  the  one  man  in  the 
world  to  me.  But  I  thought  that  thou  heldat  ill  against 
thy  brother ;  and  that  cruel  woman  worked  on  me,  and 
forced  me  into  betrothal  with  her  son.  I  would  have 
tried  to  do  my  duty  to  him,  since  I  was  but  a  young  girl, 
sold  from  hand  to  hand  as  a  slave ;  and  then  I  pitied 
him,  seeing  how  he  was  treated  ;  but  now  mine  eyes  are 
opened  as  thine  are  closed." 

"  Margaret,"  I  answered,  "  art  thou  sure  of  all  this  ? 
Then  he  is  earl  of  all  these  proud  lands,  and  I  am  but  as 
naught." 

"  And  it  is  that  thou  meanest !  Have  i  not  wealth 
for  both,  and  art  thou  not  an  earl's  son  ?  I  will  win 
place  for  us  both.  Thou  art  dearer  to  me  than  all  the 
earls  in  the  world." 

"  Come  closer,  my  love  !  "  I  cried.  "  I  fear  that  tWs 
be  but  a  dream,  a  sweet  dream,  sent  by  Heaven  to  me 
ere  I  die,"  for  I  felt  as  though  I  were  going.  She  came 
and  placed  her  dear  arms  about  my  neck,  and  held 
me  to  her  heart,  as  a  mother  would  her  child,  and  then 
as  my  lips  touched  hers  there  came  a  double  blackness, 
and  I  knew  no  more. 

But  I  did  not  die.  Those  sweet  eyes  were  eyes  to 
me,  those  hands  as  my  hands,  until,  in  God's  own  time. 
I  saw  for  myself  once  more,  and  became  as  other  souls. 


if 


I- 


If  i 

h  ! 


1 1 


■t: 


3i«  /^AT  OF  THE  OKCADES 

'Z  "t'  ,•" '■"^'r'^-'  «"1  cynic  ia  Uu.  world  „. 
■ur.  bat  U»  6„t  hop.  ^  „,^„,  j^  »7 

po^  cuw,  ™,,  .„.h  „,.„..  ,^        °^^'°   • 
good  and  aweet  woman. 

There  u  littl,  more  of  thi.  .tory  to  teU  Tk,  „.,, 
w.ekad«admatterh.pp,:«,in8iu.„i  TOMw« 
b««g  made  happy,  and  wa.  .till  helple«,  and  the  p^l 

«n«,  of  nght  the  new,  came  that  the  young  Prioc. 
D.„d  of  P,th«y  wa.  found  ...rved  to 'death  i"2 

h..  perch.    Then  my  e.«  came  out.    For  my  love  had 
J6  m,«„ge  at  once  to  her  friend,  of  the  whole  merit, 
"f  my  cu»,  and  the  great  cruelty  done  me ;  «.d  then 
.nother  matter  happened.    The  prie.t,  mLe  unck 
who  nearly  died  did  me  juatio.  atLt,  Ind  a  m^' 
o.me  down  poet  haet,  from  Perth,  where  the  King  Z 
•t«y.ng,  with  a  great  document,  procluming  my  riAt.  m 
nghtful  Earl  of  the  C^ttyne,,  «  elder^"f  ^"^^ 

M«=Leod,  whom  report  fatoljr  proclaimed  h^  been 

a  her  .ucceeded.  When  thi.  new.  reached  my  lady 
counte„,  ,he  ro«  from  her  couch,  uttered  my  naml 
with  a  terrible  invective,  and  feU  dead 

I.t^^  "" fr  ""*''  ^^'^  ""•"  '"*'•  Ho  Wt  «.«  . 
coun»U„r ;  ,t  ran  a,  follow.,  and  I  could  not  but  grieve 
over  It :     Ian,  my  brother,"  it  .aid,  "  foqpve  mT^d 


IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 


319 

mine  for  the  iU  we  aU  did  thee.  'Ti.  lUl  the  better  that 
thou  art  to  keep  our  hou-e  than  that  I  should  have 
kept  ,t.  •eeing  thou  haet  suffered.  .0  thou  haet  thy  just 

*!!  /!  ^'  ^  "'^  ''•  '^''^  ^^'^^  ^«rt  more  worthy 
of  her  and  of  all  than  I  could  be.  I  go  to  carve  me  a  new 
name  and  chance  a  new  fame ;  or  if  not,  at  least  to  die  - 
Your  brother  Hugh." 

But  I  did  not  altogether  lose  sight  of  him.  By 
mine  influence  and  that  of  his  mother's  family,  he  had  a 
place  among  the  leading  soldiers  at  the  Court,  and  rose 
in  favour  with  the  King;  and  going  with  the  young 
Pnnce  James,  our  cousin,  into  France,  was  imprisoned 
with  bm  in  England  ;  but  returning  at  last  he  married 
a  great  lady,  and  founded  the  cadet  house  of  our  family 
of  that  name.  ' 

But  I  have  other  matters  to  relate.    Six  months 
after  I  was  married  in  great  state  to  her  who  hath  been 
my  fnend  and  comforter  ever  since ;  and  we  have  done 
much  by  our  lives  to  change  the  nature  and  reputation 
Of  our  place  and  name  in  this  country  from  that  of  mere 
ravage  warfare  to  the  gentler  arts  of  peace.    In  all  this 
sue  hath  been  my  guide  and  companion.    My  mother's 
remains  I  had  removed  to  a  vault,  which  I  built  in  the 
castle  chapel,  where  she  sleeps  near  that  other  great 
and  proud  woman,  my  stepmother.    So  strange  is  the 
mutebihty  of  chance  and  the  obliviousness  of  time  and 
death     Mine  uncle,  the  great  MacLeod,  hath  still  dwelt 
with  his  own  people,  and  hath  waxed  greater  than  even 
^8  mighty  forefathers  in  the  pride  and  power  of  his  race 


I 

i  I 


w 


330  IAN  OF  THE  ORCADES 

in  the  Western  Wands  of  Scotland.    Mine  armourer  I 

l?rf^'  ^'^^  W  "ince  left  him.  but  he 
-taU  hveth  m  an  extreme  old  age.  and  groweth  garrulool 
«  he  groweth  older,  a  strange  curse  tTLl  upoTTon" 

Tlf  T"'  '  ^°^^  '^^'  *^**  "-  ^tion  as 
executioner  dunng  my  time  hath  faUen  into  abeyance 

tn\.Z  °"*  °'°''  "^^^  ^  ''^^'  ^^  it  tath 
to  do  with  mme  uncle  Angus.  A  week  after  I  had  been 
jeeored  m  my , rightful  position,  a  letter  was  brought  me 
bearing  his  signature.  I  have  had  it  in  possession  ever 
«noe.  and  it  was  the  last  communication  I  had  from  him 
for  he  went  abroad  to  France  soon  after,  and  Uiere  died  in' 
the  end  a  great  Churchman.    The  letter  ran  as  foUows  :- 

J  ^J  "T  ^"'f'^'-Either  it  hath  been  fated  that  a 

fool  should  mar  the  best  and  wisest  plans  of  men.  or  else 
thou  art  a  deeper  vilkm  than  thine  micle  Ang;s.  bI 
what  thou  mayest.  I  have  done  with  thee  andThy  ways 
for  ever.  Thatwi«lom  may  give  thee  sight  toLth"! 
mn  thou  hast  made  of  thy  Kfe  is  the  only  remaining 

Angus  Siwclaib." 

former  bitterness  had  lost  ite  sting  for  evermore. 


I 

ce 
lie 
u 

e- 
u 


